Freman.  Second is amendment to virst.  ’Tes the amendments is putt virst.

Trustaford.  ’Ow’s that, Mr. Godleigh?  I’m not particular eggzac’ly to a dilly zort of a point like that.

Sol Potter. [Scratching his, head] ’Tes a very nice point, for zure.

Godleigh.  ’Tes undoubtedly for the chairman to decide.

     [Voice from the dumb-as fishes:  “But there ain’t no chairman
     yet.”]

Jarland.  Sol Potter’s chairman.

Freman.  No, ’e ain’t.

Morse.  Yes, ‘e is—­’e’s chairman till this second old meetin’ gets on the go.

Freman.  I deny that.  What du yu say, Mr. Trustaford?

Trustaford.  I can’t ‘ardly tell.  It du zeem a darned long-sufferin’ sort of a business altogether.

     [A silence.]

Morse. [Slowly] Tell ’ee what ’tis, us shan’t du no gude like this.

Godleigh.  ’Tes for Mr. Freman or Mr. Trustaford, one or t’other to withdraw their motions.

Trustaford. [After a pause, with cautious generosity] I’ve no objections to withdrawin’ mine, if Will Freman’ll withdraw his’n.

Freman.  I won’t never be be’indhand.  If Mr. Trustaford withdraws, I withdraws mine.

Morse. [With relief] That’s zensible.  Putt the motion to the meetin’.

Sol Potter.  There ain’t no motion left to putt.

     [Silence of consternation.]

     [In the confusion Jim Bere is seen to stand up.]

Godleigh.  Jim Bere to spike.  Silence for Jim!

Voices.  Aye!  Silence for Jim!

Sol Potter.  Well, Jim?

Jim. [Smiling and slow] Nothin’ duin’.

Trustaford.  Bravo, Jim!  Yu’m right.  Best zense yet!

     [Applause from the dumb-as-fishes.]

     [With his smile brightening, Jim resumes his seat.]

Sol Potter. [Wiping his brow] Du seem to me, gentlemen, seem’ as we’m got into a bit of a tangle in a manner of spakin’, ’twid be the most zimplest and vairest way to begin all over vrom the beginnin’, so’s t’ave it all vair an’ square for every one.

     [In the uproar Of “Aye” and “No,” it is noticed that Tibby
     Jarland is standing in front of her father with her finger, for
     want of something better, in her mouth.]

Tibby. [In her stolid voice] Please, sister Mercy says, curate ’ave got to “Lastly.” [Jarland picks her up, and there is silence.] An’ please to come quick.

Jarland.  Come on, mates; quietly now!

     [He goes out, and all begin to follow him.]

Morse. [Slowest, save for Sol Potter] ’Tes rare lucky us was all agreed to hiss the curate afore us began the botherin’ old meetin’, or us widn’ ’ardly ’ave ’ad time to settle what to du.