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.

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.