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.