The first thing I did was to issue a bill, stating that the meeting would be held. It was headed, "Mudford," and announced that I--described as TIMOTHY WINKINS, Esq., J.P. (for I boast that proud distinction through an error of the Lord Chancellor of the period, who mistook me for a member of his party, which I was not)--that I would explain the provisions and working of the Parish Councils Act, that "questions would be invited at the close," and that "all persons were cordially invited to attend." I sent a copy of this to every one in the village, and then fondly imagined that I should hear no more about the matter till the fateful night approached. In that I was mistaken, however.
Next morning, as I was sitting in my study--curiously enough getting ready some notes for what was to be my epoch-making speech--I saw coming up the drive two ladies, whom I recognised as Mrs. LETHAM HAVITT and Mrs. ARBLE MARCH, both ladies, I remembered, who had made themselves prominent in politics in the village, Mrs. HAVITT as a leading light of the Women's Liberal Federation, and Mrs. MARCH as a Lady Crusader (is that right?) of the Primrose League. A moment later, and those ladies were ushered into my room.
"We've come," said Mrs. HAVITT, cutting the cackle, and coming at once to the 'osses, "we've come to see you about that meeting."
"Oh, indeed!" I murmured. "Yes, the meeting."
"We notice," said Mrs. ARBLE MARCH, taking up the running, "that you only say 'persons' may attend the meeting. Now we're very much afraid that women won't understand that they may come."
"But surely," I protested, feebly, "a woman is a person."
"Well, we think" (_this as a duet_) "that you ought to say that 'all persons, men or women, married or single, are invited to attend.'"
I was a good deal staggered, and thought of asking whether they wouldn't like the name of the village altered, or my name printed without the J.P., but I refrained. I promised to print new bills, and I did it. I thought it would be a poor beginning to a peaceful revolution to have an angry woman in every household.
Those were my first visitors. After that I had about two calls a day. One day the Vicar dropped in to afternoon tea, to congratulate me on my public spirit. I confess I felt rather pleased. I had evidently done the right, the high-minded, the patriotic thing. My mind became filled with visions of myself as Chairman of the Parish Council, the head man of a contented village. Just before he left, however, the Vicar suggested that I should advise the electors to elect into the chair someone who had had previous training of what its duties and responsibilities were, and I suddenly remembered that the Vicar was the present Chairman of the Vestry. Then somehow I guessed why I had been favoured with a visit. The curious thing was, that my next caller (who arrived half an hour afterwards) came to say that the most satisfactory thing in the whole Act was, that the clergyman could not take the chair. Then my memory once more told me what manner of man I was talking to--he was a prominent local preacher. I was being nobbled.