Trustaford.  ‘Tes no yuse yure risin’, not the least bit in the world, till there’s some one to set yu down again.  Haw, haw!

     [Voice from the dumb-as-Etches:  “Mr. Trustaford ’e’s right.”]

Freman.  What I zay is the chairman ought never to ’ave vacated the chair till I’d risen on my point of order.  I purpose that he goo and zet down again.

Godleigh.  Yu can’t purpose that to this meetin’; yu can only purpose that to the old meetin’ that’s not zettin’ any longer.

Freman. [Excitedly] I didn’ care what old meetin’ ’tis that’s zettin’.  I purpose that Sol Potter goo an’ zet in that chair again, while I rise on my point of order.

Trustaford. [Scratching his head] ’Tesn’t regular but I guess yu’ve got to goo, Sol, or us shan’t ’ave no peace.

     [Sol Potter, still wiping his brow, goes back to the chair.]

Morse. [Stolidly-to Freman] Zet down, Will Freman. [He pulls at him with a blacksmith’s arm.]

Freman. [Remaining erect with an effort] I’m not a-goin’ to zet down till I’ve arisen.

Jarland.  Now then, there ’e is in the chair.  What’s yore point of order?

Freman. [Darting his eyes here and there, and flinging his hand up to his gipsy-like head] ‘Twas—­’twas—­Darned ef y’ ’aven’t putt it clean out o’ my ’ead.

Jarland.  We can’t wait for yore points of order.  Come out o’ that chair.  Sol Potter.

     [Sol Potter rises and is about to vacate the chair.]

Freman.  I know!  There ought to ’a been minutes taken.  Yu can’t ‘ave no meetin’ without minutes.  When us comes to electin’ a chairman o’ the next meetin’, ’e won’t ’ave no minutes to read.

Sol Potter.  ’Twas only to putt down that I was elected chairman to elect a meetin’ to elect a chairman to preside over a meetin’ to pass a resolution dalin’ wi’ the curate.  That’s aisy set down, that is.

Freman. [Mollified] We’ll ’ave that zet down, then, while we’re electin’ the chairman o’ the next meetin’.

     [A silence. ]

Trustaford.  Well then, seein’ this is the praaper old meetin’ for carryin’ the resolution about the curate, I purpose Mr. Sol Potter take the chair.

Freman.  I purpose Mr. Trustaford.  I ‘aven’t a-got nothin’ against Sol Potter, but seein’ that he elected the meetin’ that’s to elect ’im, it might be said that ‘e was electin’ of himzelf in a manner of spakin’.  Us don’t want that said.

Morse. [Amid meditative grunts from the dumb-as-fishes] There’s some-at in that.  One o’ they tu purposals must be putt to the meetin’.

Freman.  Second must be putt virst, fur zure.

Trustaford.  I dunno as I wants to zet in that chair.  To hiss the curate, ’tis a ticklish sort of a job after that.  Vurst comes afore second, Will Freeman.