ACT II

_The office of Blackton Football Club is situated under a stand, the slope of which forms its roof, down to some eight feet from its floor. In the perpendicular side are the windows, overlooking the ground. Used as much for the entertainment of visitors as for office work, the room contains only a desk with revolving chair, and a sofa to indicate its titular purpose, and for the rest is a comfortably appointed club-room. On the walls are sporting prints and, by the desk, a file of posters, the uppermost advertising the day's match. A door gives access, and a second door leads to the ambulance-room._

(_Hugh Martin, the Club Secretary, sits at the open desk. Austin enters._)

Austin. Well, Martin.

Martin. Good afternoon, Mr. Whitworth.

Austin. What do you estimate the gate at? Five hundred pounds?

Martin (_rising_). The returns are not in yet, but hardly that much.

Austin (_looking out of window_). I should call it a twenty thousand crowd by the looks of it.

Martin (_not looking out_). Not far short. But (_awkwardly_) there's been a little accident, sir.

Austin. Accident?

Martin. Oh, it's happened before. They rushed the turnstiles on the shilling side.

Austin. I say, Martin, that's too bad. Just when we need every penny we can screw.

Martin. About three thousand got in free before the police could master the rush.

Austin. That Chief Constable's an incompetent ass. He never sends us enough men.

Martin. Fewer than usual to-day. There's a socialist demonstration on the recreation ground, and that's taken away a lot of police.

Austin. Idiot! Does he think Blackton people will go to a political meeting when there's a football match?

Martin. As you say, sir, he's a fool.

Austin (_sitting at desk_). No use claiming for the loss either. Pass me the cheque-book, Martin. Those people with the mortgage on the stands threaten to foreclose unless we pay on Monday. I'd a letter this morning.

Martin (_opening safe and passing cheque-book from it_). Can we meet it, sir?

Austin. Yes. Metherell's transfer fee is in the Bank.

Martin. That brightens our sky.

Austin. Think so, Martin?

(_Martin replaces Austin at desk, signs cheque, tears it out and then puts book back in safe._)

Martin. I never thought we should live through the season. And here we are at the end of it still alive and kicking.

Austin. They'd better kick to some purpose to-day, Martin, or-----

Martin. It'll be all right, sir.

Austin. You're a sanguine fellow. Suppose we lose. Second Division. No dividends. No dividends, no Club. No Club, no Secretary, Martin.

Martin. Don't talk about it, sir. It's not losing my job. That doesn't matter. But the thought of Blackton going down is more than I can bear.

Austin. Yes. It's ugly. You're a good fellow, Martin.

Martin. Don't mention it, sir. I love the game.

Austin. The game! Yes. Always the game.

Martin. I often wish this side didn't exist, though it is my bread and butter.... That's the whistle. They're playing.

Austin. Yes. Didn't you know? They'd begun before I came in here.

Martin (_reproachfully_). Oh, sir!

Austin. Don't let me keep you from your place.

Martin. Aren't you coming?

Austin. No. I shan't see much of this match, Martin.

Martin. When so much depends upon it!

Austin. Yes. That's why.

Martin (_consolingly_). But you forget things when you watch the game.

Austin (_kindly_). Go and forget them, Martin.

(_Enter Florence, in outdoor spring costume, excitedly._)

Florence. Father, aren't you coming? You've missed it all. We've scored a goal in the first five minutes.

Austin. Scored already! Thank God.

Florence. The most glorious goal you ever saw. Black-ton are playing up like little heroes. It's the match of the season.

(_Martin slips out._)

Angus is in terrific form. I take back what I said about him. Metherell himself couldn't do better. He had the Birchester goalee beat to smithereens. I tell you it's tremendous.

Austin. How's Metherell playing?

Florence. Against us.

Austin (_impatiently_). Yes. But how?

Florence. How does he generally play?

Austin. Like that? He's in form?

Florence. It's worth a guinea a minute to watch him. And you're missing it.

Austin. I'll go on missing it, Flo.

Florence (_looking through window_). Well, I won't.

(_Exit Florence. Austin sits down in desk-chair, staring at the wall, blankly._)

Austin. Metherell!

(_Enter from the ambulance-room Dr. Wells, a young sporting doctor, nice-looking, with dark hair and moustache. He is passing through to the outer door. Austin starts._)

Oh, it's you, Doctor. You startled me.

Wells. I beg your pardon, Mr. Whitworth.

Austin. My fault for day-dreaming. (_Rising._) Ready for contingencies in your torture chamber?

Wells. All clear. You look rather like a contingency yourself.

Austin. I'm--I'm nervous.

Wells (_sympathetically_). It's a trying occasion. Don't you keep a bottle of whisky in that desk?

Austin (_smiling_). Don't you know I do?

Wells (_grinning_). I have some recollection of it. Take my strictly unprofessional advice and have a good strong nip.

Austin (_at desk cupboard_). Have one yourself?

Wells. No, thanks. I'm going to look out for accidents.

Austin. Ghoul!

Wells. Every man to his trade.

(_Exit Wells. Austin mixes drink. Enter Edmund._)

Edmund. Hullo! That's bad, Austin.

Austin. Doctor's orders, Edmund. Will you?

Edmund. No, thanks.

Austin. How's the game?

Edmund. Rowdy. You're not watching it?

Austin. No. I'm praying for it.

Edmund. So far the gods have heard your prayer.

Austin. Metherell hasn't. I hear he's playing his best game against us.

Edmund. I'm no judge.

Austin. Are you tired of it already?

Edmund. I find it just a trifle wearing. Perhaps I'm tod old to appreciate a new sensation. The excitement's too concentrated. And the noise! I'm deafened.

Austin. It's quiet enough in here. Those windows are double.

Edmund. They need to be. Austin, about Elsie.

Austin. Yes?

Edmund. And this footballer. You'll have to put your foot down.

Austin. I don't flatter myself I shall have much to say in the matter.

Edmund. Hang it, you're her father.

Austin. You heard what she said.

Edmund. To my blank astonishment, I did.

Austin. Oh, I'm used to it.

Edmund. Pull yourself together, Austin. You've drifted till your authority's flouted by your own children.

Austin. You know, Edmund, that sort of talk was all right in our day, but my children belong to the new generation, and the new generation regards parental authority as a played-out superstition.

Edmund. Nonsense. Be supine and they'll tread on you. You've only your own slackness to blame for it if you're flouted.

Austin. That, again, is the view of our time. We're old codgers to-day, Edmund, you and I.

Edmund. Confound it, Austin, you're not going to take this lying down!

Austin. No. I shall fight the fight of my generation against the next. I shall lose, of course.

Edmund. You mustn't lose.

Austin. Why should I be an exception to a natural law?

Edmund. Natural law! Natural laziness, you mean. You've simply let your children get out of hand through sheer weakness, and if you don't care to exert yourself to save Elsie from a gross _mésalliance_, I will.

Austin. Why's it a _mésalliance_?

Edmund. Good heavens, man--a footballer!

Austin. There spoke the acclimatized Londoner. Black-ton won't be scandalized like Sevenoaks.

Edmund. Oh, hang your smug imitation democracy! You don't believe that, Austin.

Austin. I always believe in the inevitable.

Edmund. It's not inevitable, It's incredible. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, Austin. I'll take Elsie back with me to London and cure her of this infatuation with a jolly good round of the theatres and the shops.

Austin. My dear fellow! The theatres where she'll see nothing but romantic love stories and the shops where she'll go under your nose to buy her trousseau. Try it, Edmund. You'll be astonished at the result.

Edmund. It seems my _métier_ to be astonished to-day. First I assist at an attempted bribery, and now it seems I'm to see my niece marry the incorruptible footballer.

Austin. You're a bachelor. The modern child surprises you. As a father, I have ceased to be surprised.

Edmund. As a father your idea of your duty is to stand idle while your daughter makes a sentimental mess of her life. I begin to thank my stars I'm a bachelor. At least I'm not henpecked by a rebellious family.

Austin. There's no rebellion about it, Edmund. I date from the sixties, they from the nineties, and we rub along quite peacefully in mutual toleration of the different attitudes.

Edmund. Tolerating the difference means that you give in to them every time.

Austin. Not quite.

Edmund. Then you won't give in to Elsie?

Austin. I shall be loyal to my generation, Edmund. She will be loyal to hers,--and youth will fight for her.

Edmund. That means you'll put up a protest for form's sake and give in gracefully when you think you've said enough to save your face.

Austin. No. Not if I can help it.

Edmund. Austin, you must help it. The thing's unthinkable. I'll help you to help it.

Austin. I shall be glad of any assistance you can give me.

(_Austin turns a little wistfully to window._)

Edmund. You think I can't give much.

Austin. Hullo! The game's stopped. I hadn't heard the whistle go.

Edmund. I fancy I did a minute ago, without knowing its significance. What does it mean?

Austin. Probably an accident. Heaven help us if it's one of our men!

(_Enter Wells and Jack, who is in green-and-white football costume, soiled on the left side, with his left arm in an emergency sling. Elsie follows._)

Elsie (_anxiously_). Father, Jack's broken his arm. Wells. Nothing very serious, Mr. Whitworth. I think it's only a simple fracture.

Elsie. Only!

Wells (_taking Jack across_). Come along in here, Metherell. I'll have it set before you know where you are.

Austin (_impulsively_). Metherell.

Jack (_as Wells opens door_). Accidents will happen, Mr. Whitworth.

(_Exit Wells with him, closing door._)

Elsie. Doctors are callous beasts. (_She opens door rand goes out with determination after them._)

Austin (_scoffing_). Accident!

Edmund. Why not? Don't they happen?

Austin. After my proposition?

Edmund. He scorned it.

Austin. Second thoughts. I asked for bad play, but he's thinking of his reputation and he's broken his arm.

Edmund. Deliberately?

Austin. Yes.

Edmund. Heroic measures, Austin.

Austin. It's the last match of the season. He's all the summer months to get right in.

(_Elsie returns._)

Elsie. That doctor's turned me out.

Austin. Of course. You've no right in there.

Elsie. I've every right to be where Jack is suffering.

Austin. He can suffer very well without your assistance.

Elsie. You needn't be brutal about it, father.

Austin. I'm not being brutal. The man's a professional footballer. He accepts the risk of a broken limb as a part of his occupation. Metherell's not a wounded hero.

Edmund. No. He's simply a workman who'll doubtless receive proper compensation from his employers.

Elsie. And from me.

Austin. You!

Elsie. This will hurry on our marriage, father. Jack needs attention now.

Austin. Hasn't he got a mother?

Elsie. No mother could love him as I do. No one can nurse him as tenderly as I shall.

Austin. Nurse! A broken arm doesn't make an invalid of any one, especially a man in first-class physical condition.

Elsie. I think it's very cruel of you to belittle Jack's injuries.

Edmund. I wish you would stop calling him Jack.

Elsie. It's his name. He wasn't christened John.

Edmund. I refer to the impropriety of a young lady calling a workman by his Christian name.

Elsie. As the young lady is going to be married to the workman in the shortest possible time, I fail to see where the impropriety comes in.

Edmund. That is where we differ, my dear.

Elsie. About impropriety?

Edmund. No. About marriage.

Elsie. Would you rather I lived with him without being married?

Austin. Elsie!

Elsie (_coolly_). Oh, it's all right, father. Uncle deserves a good shock. He's hopelessly suburban.

Edmund (_pompously_). Elsie, I am older than you and----

Elsie (_pertly_). Yes. That's your misfortune.

Edmund (_angrily_). Will you allow me to speak without interrupting?

(_Austin sits in the armchair._)

Elsie. Yes, if you'll speak sensibly and won't put on side because your mind's grown old and pompous as well as your body.

Austin. Elsie, I won't have this rudeness to your uncle.

Elsie. My dear father, uncle is being stupid. The only way to combat stupidity is rudeness. Therefore, I am rude.

Edmund (_humouring her_). I propose to speak sensibly according to my lights.

Elsie (_under her breath_). Ancient lights.

Edmund (_reasoning_). Now, suppose we do permit you to marry this----

Elsie (_reproducing his reasonable tone_). Be careful, uncle. Talking of permission is on the border line.

Edmund (_avoiding irritability_). Suppose you marry him, what interests can you have in common? I grant you he's a handsome specimen of manhood to-day, but retired athletes always run to seed.

Austin (_self-consciously_). Hem!

Edmund. And apart from the attraction of the flesh, what's left?

Elsie (_cordially_). Oh, you are talking sense this time. It's difficult, but I shall manage him.

Edmund. Shall you?

Elsie (_confidently_). Oh yes. I couldn't do it if he were as old as you, because at your age a man's in a groove and sticks in it till he dies. Jack's not a modern, but he's young enough to learn. It's hardly credible, but at present he believes in Ruskin and Carlyle and reads Browning. Well, you know, I can't have a husband with a taste for Victorianism.

Austin. Then why have him at all?

Elsie. It's a curable disease.

Edmund. He reads Browning!

Elsie. Yes, but you needn't worry about that. I shall make a modern of him all right.

Edmund. Do you mean to tell me a footballer reads Browning?

Elsie. He can't always be at football. Oh yes. And Plato, only not in the original.

Edmund. Why, the man's a scholar.

Elsie. Did you think he was illiterate?

Edmund. I'm afraid I have underrated him. Still, that only proves him an estimable member of his class. It doesn't alter the fact that his class isn't yours.

Elsie (_hotly_). Class! What do I care for class? Elemental passions sweep away class distinctions.

Edmund. That's a high falutin' name for a flirtation with a footballer.

Elsie. It's a name I thought you'd understand. Personally I'd say I've got the sex clutch on and other things don't matter. Any more shots, uncle?

Edmund. You needn't flatter yourself you've talked me into consenting to this marriage.

Elsie. Nobody asked you, sir, she said.

Edmund (_angrily_). Nobody----

Elsie (_easily conversational_). Wouldn't it interest you to see how the game's going, uncle?

Edmund (_relieved_). I think it would. But don't you think you've heard the last of me.

Elsie (_sympathetically_). No, but you want time to think out a few more objections.

Edmund. I am going purely out of desire to witness the match.

(_Exit Edmund._)

Elsie (_looking after him_). Poor dear. He tried his best.

Austin (_half rising_). And I am going to try now.

Elsie (_pushing him gently hack into chair and sitting on its arm_). Oh, I don't mind you. He tried like an outraged relation. You'll try like a pal.

Austin. No. I'm going to be firm.

Elsie. What a bore.

Austin (_seriously_). You didn't expect me to be pleased about this, did you?

Elsie (_pouting_). Why not, if I'm pleased? Jack isn't marrying you.

Austin. Nor you, if I can help it.

Elsie. But you can't help it, you know.

Austin. Oh, I'm quite aware the stern parent isn't my game. But as pals, Elsie----

Elsie (_nestling up to him_). Yes, father, as pals.

Austin. As goose to goose, it's not the thing. Now, frankly, is Jack Metherell up to our weight?

Elsie. He's above it.

Austin. Above it?

Elsie. Certainly. The condescension's his. He's a better footballer than ever you were, and you were no fool at football.

Austin. Football isn't everything, Elsie!

Elsie. Well, you play a decent hand at Bridge, but that's not much. Your golf's rotten. What else do you do well?

Austin (_pushing her aside, and rising_). Really, Elsie!

Elsie (_still on the arm_). Don't say "really." Tell me.

Austin. I hope I'm fairly good at being a gentleman.

Elsie. Doing, I said, not being.

Austin (_humbly_). I--er--play the piano, you know.

Elsie. Yes, but you're not a musician within the meaning of the Act. You play the piano like a third-rate professional, too good for a public-house and not good enough for the concert platform, whereas Jack's football makes him a certainty for the England team in any international match. You may have more money than he has----

Austin (_glancing at window_). I'm not even sure of that.

Elsie (_triumphantly_). Then you've absolutely nothing on your side except a stupid and obsolete class prejudice.

Austin. Upon my word, Elsie----

Elsie (_coming to him, gently_). Yes, I know I'm crushing, dear.

Austin. You're pitiless. Youth always is.

Elsie. Not always, father, but you shouldn't try to argue about love.

Austin. I was arguing about marriage.

Elsie (_away from him_). I suppose at your age it's natural to be cynical about marriage and pretend it's nothing to do with love. And then of course when you were young it used to be the fashion to mock at marriage. We take our duties to society seriously to-day.

Austin. Are you proposing to marry Jack from a sense of duty?

Elsie (_wistfully_). You'll be awfully proud of your grandchildren, father. They'll be most beautiful babies.

Austin. You look ahead, young woman.

Elsie. It's just as well I do. You're still worrying about a thing I settled weeks ago.

Austin. Then why didn't you tell me weeks ago?

Elsie. I hadn't told Jack then.

(_Wells opens door, and enters with Jack, whose arm is in a splint and sling._)

Wells (_entering_). You'd better go straight home now. Never mind about the match. I want you to avoid excitement for a awhile.

Jack. The match doesn't excite me.

Wells. Then you can leave it without regret.

Jack (_indicating his costume_). In these?

Wells. I'll go round to the dressing-room and bring your clothes here if you'll trust me not to pick your pockets.

Jack. There's nothing to pick. I've more sense than to take money into a dressing-tent.

Austin. Can't you trust the others, Metherell?

Jack (_drily_). Yes, so long as they're not tempted.

Wells. I won't be long. (_Exit._)

Elsie (_watching Wells resentfully till he goes_). Did he hurt you much, Jack?

Jack. Not to speak of.

(_Austin watches her scornfully._)

Elsie. Oh, you're brave. But you shall come to no more harm. I'll see you home safely.

Austin (_sarcastically, indicating door of the ambulance-room_). You'll find cotton wool in there.

Elsie. What for?

Austin. To wrap him up in.

Elsie. Don't be spiteful, father.

Austin. Good heavens, girl, a broken arm is nothing.

(_Jack sits wearily._)

Elsie. Except that the arm happens to be Jack's.

Austin. The civilized world will gasp at the great event.

Elsie. The athletic world certainly will. It's all very well for you to joke. Your arm's not hurt. It's all a gain to you. If Blackton don't win with only ten men against them, they deserve shooting. This accident means a lot.

Austin. I know what it means--better than you do. (_Looking at Jack._)

Jack (_jerking his head up_). What's that?

Austin. As you tactfully remarked, Metherell, accidents will happen.

Jack (_rising_). Don't you believe it was an accident?

Elsie. What else could it be? Do you think he broke his arm for fun?

Jack (_straight at Austin_). It was an accident.

Austin. No, my lad. It was a bargain.

Jack. I made no bargain.

Austin (_sneering_). But you broke your arm.

Jack. By accident.

Austin. A singularly opportune coincidence.

Elsie. Father, what do you mean?

Austin. You'd better ask Metherell that.

Elsie (_in puzzled appeal_). Jack!

Jack. I'll say nothing.

Elsie. Then what am I to think?

Jack. Think what you like.

Elsie. I think you're a sportsman, Jack, and----

Austin. I've known a sportsman do a bigger thing than break his arm for a woman.

Elsie (_suspiciously_). A woman! What woman?

Austin. You, my dear. And, as you said, Blackton are safe to win now.

(_Wells, entering with Jack's clothes and boots, overhears Austin._)

Wells. I'm not so sure of that, Mr. Whitworth. It's anybody's game. The score's one all.

Austin (_startled_). Birchester have scored!

Wells. Yes. Didn't you know? I'll look after Metherell. You're missing a good game.

Elsie. Then you'd better go and watch it, Dr. Wells.

Wells (_slightly surprised_). I will when I've helped Metherell to change.

Jack. I'm in no hurry. Don't put yourself about for me. Half time _'_ull do.

Wells. Well, it can't be far off that now. (_Putting Jack's clothes over chair._) I should like to see something of this match. Is the arm painful?

Jack. It's sharpish.

Wells (_by desk_). Pull yourself together with a dose of this. (_Lifting whisky bottle._)

Jack. No, thanks. I'm a teetotaller.

(_Austin is lighting a cigar._)

Wells (_authoritatively_). And I'm a doctor, man.

Jack. That doesn't help my principles.

Wells. Oh, all right. If you like to be stubborn. Are you coming, Mr. Whitworth? (_Crossing to door._)

Elsie. Yes. Do go, father. They'll be expecting to see you outside.

Austin (_grim_). Yes--I'm going--to show them I can smile. Come along, Doctor.

(_Exeunt Wells and Austin._)

Elsie. Now, Jack. What's this all about?

Jack. Your father's making a mistake.

Elsie. About what?

Jack (_exasperated_). It's a confidential matter, Elsie.

Elsie. That means there's something you're afraid to tell me.

Jack. I'm not afraid. He spoke to me in private, and it's giving him away.

Elsie. You can't give him away to me. I've lived at home too long for that.

Jack. I can't abuse his confidence.

Elsie. Are you going to talk about your conscience again? Father said you broke your arm for my sake and I want to know what it means.

Jack. But I didn't, Elsie. It was an accident.

Elsie. He thought not.

Jack. Yes. He's wrong.

Elsie. Why should he think you did it intentionally? Jack (_sullenly_). Ask him.

Elsie. He's just told me to ask you. Now stop being absurd, Jack, and tell me all about it.

Jack (_reluctantly_). I told him we wanted to be married--

(_Elsie nods, smiling approval._)

--and he offered to strike a bargain. He wants Blackton to win, so I was to play a rotten game for Birchester.

Elsie. And you couldn't do it.

Jack. No.

Elsie (_enthusiastically_). No. You couldn't play badly if you tried, and so you broke your arm instead, for me. Jack, if I was proud of you before, I could worship you now. (_Patting the sling._) Your arm, your poor, hurt arm, mangled for me. My hero, my lover and my king.

Jack (_disgustedly_). You think that too!

Elsie. Think it! I know it. Don't pretend. It's too late now for modesty.

Jack. Modesty! Don't you see if I'd done that, forgotten my sportsmanship and sold a match for my private gain, I'd deserve to be kicked round the county?

Elsie. No. I don't see it. You've hurt yourself for my sake, and that's enough to make of me the proudest woman in the land.

Jack. It's enough to prove me dishonest if it were true. Elsie (_touching the arm_). Isn't that true?

Jack. Don't I tell you that's an accident?

Elsie. You've never had an accident before.

Jack. Not a serious one.

Elsie. No. You're too great a master of the game. Accidents happen to the careless and incompetent.

Jack. Then I must be both. I fell and my arm twisted under me.

Elsie. And you really didn't do it on purpose?

Jack (_hurt_). Elsie, don't you believe me?

Elsie. It's so beastly to have to. I thought you were a perfect player, and you have an accident; and I thought you were a perfect lover, and you've been afraid to prove your love.

Jack (_stirred up_). Elsie, there are twenty thousand folk about this ground to-day and some of them have come to see the match, but more to see me play an honest game. They're just a football crowd, but there isn't a man upon this ground to-day but knows Jack Metherell is straight. It's left for you to say I ought to be a crook. You're great at golf and hockey. Is that the way you play the game?

Elsie. Forgive me, Jack. I did want things to be right for us.

Jack. At any price?

Elsie. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking of the game. I only thought of you.

Jack. I know. But I want things to be right and rightly right.

Elsie (_smiling_). And now they are.

Jack (_puzzled_). Your father----

Elsie. We've only to let him go on thinking you did it on purpose.

Jack. But I didn't.

Elsie (_soothingly_). I know. _I_ know it was pure accident. But he doesn't.

Jack. He must be told.

Elsie. I thought you wanted his consent to our marriage

Jack. I do.

Elsie. Then let him think you've kept the bargain he proposed.

Jack. Let him think I'm dishonest?

Elsie. What was he? What does it matter what he thinks if I know the truth?

Jack. He's got to know the truth. If he'd have me as a scoundrel for your husband, he should be glad to have me as an honest man. (_Smiling sourly._) My arm's broke either way.

Elsie. I don't care tuppence for his consent.

Jack. It's not the square thing to get married without.

Elsie. Oh, leave him to me.

Jack. You bustle him so. It's not respectful, Elsie.

Elsie. Well, you needn't take him under your wing as well. It's not the custom in this family to split hairs about filial piety. I'll make it all right, Jack.

Jack. It's my job, Elsie.

Elsie. It's our job, and you've had your innings. Now it's mine. But I'm going to take you home first to your mother.

Jack. But my mother doesn't know about you, yet.

Elsie (_drily_). It's time I made her acquaintance.

Jack (_doubtfully_). I don't know what she'll say.

Elsie. We'll find out when she says it. You think a great deal of your mother, Jack.

Jack. My father's dead. She's both to me. That's why I'm anxious.

Elsie. Anxious! But your mother wouldn't stop us, Jack.

Jack (_doubtfully_). You will be careful with her, Elsie.

Elsie. Careful?

Jack. Yes. Not like you go on with your father. She's used to my way.

(_She has his unhurt arm, urging him to door, when it opens and Austin, Florence and Leo enter._)

Austin. Still here, Metherell!

Elsie. I'm just going to take him home.

Austin (_to Jack_). Wasn't the doctor going to help you into your clothes? (_To Leo and Florence._) Where is Wells? Have either of you seen him?

Leo. Last seen disappearing in the direction of the bar with an eminent London solicitor.

Elsie. Oh, never mind him. Jack's clothes can follow. We'll take a taxi.

Austin. But----

Elsie. Come along, Jack.

(_Exeunt Elsie and Jack._)

Leo. I say, father, it's a jolly rough game. This must be one of the referee's slack days or he'd pull Angus up sharp.

Austin (_genially_). The score's two--one for Blackton, my boy.

Florence. Blackton play against the wind next half.

Austin (_confidently_). The match is all right. I've something else to talk about to you two. You saw Metherell and Elsie?

Leo (_grinning_). Yes. It's a case.

Austin. What?

Leo (_the grin fading_). Well, isn't it?

Austin. So you know.

Leo. I've got eyes.

Austin. You take it philosophically.

Leo. I don't see that it matters how I take it.

Austin. To my mind it matters considerably. He'll be your brother-in-law if he marries her.

Leo. That had occurred to me.

Austin. Don't you mind?

Leo. I don't mind. Metherell's a stupendous nut at football.

Austin. I understood football didn't interest you.

Leo. Merely academically.

Austin. It's really far more your concern than mine, you know, Leo. In the natural course of things Elsie's husband will be your brother-in-law for a longer period than he'll be my son-in-law. Yours too, Flo.

Florence. Yes. (_Pause._)

Austin (_exasperated_). Well? Have neither of you anything to say?

Florence (_rather bored_). Not much in my line, dad.

Leo. Nor in mine. As I'm her brother I can't cut the other fellow out and marry her myself. I'm rather thankful, too. Elsie takes a lot of stopping when she's got the bit between her teeth.

Austin. I don't get much help from you.

Florence. Why should you?

Leo. It's no use jibbing, father. Much easier to give them your blessing and a cheque.

Austin. It is always easiest to give way, Leo.

Leo. Yes. Isn't it?

Austin (_wildly_). Good heavens, do you young people care about nothing?

Leo. We're tremendously in earnest about a lot of things, only they're not the things you're in earnest about. There are fashions in shibboleths just as much as in socks, and you're a little out of date in both.

Austin. Possibly. But blood is still thicker than water, Leo. Metherell is a man of the people and----

Leo. Oh, my dear father, don't talk about the people as if they inhabited an inferior universe. The class bogey is one of the ghosts we've laid to-day.

Austin. Indeed. I'd an idea it was rather rampant.

Leo. I believe it used to be. As a matter of fact, I do object to Metherell.

Austin. Oh! You have some sense left.

Florence. I don't. I only wish I was in Elsie's shoes.

Leo. Was I speaking, Flo, or were you?

Florence. You were, too much.

Leo. I object theoretically on aesthetic grounds because of the destined fatness of the retired footballer. But I have Elsie's assurance that Metherell's a teetotaller and I trust her to give him a lively enough time to keep him decently thin, so that practically my objection falls to pieces.

Austin. Leo, I didn't expect much help from you, but upon my word your cynicism is disgusting.

Leo. I expect, you know, that's pretty much what grandfather thought of you.

(_Enter Elsie and Jack._)

Hullo! are there no taxis?

Elsie (_angry_). I think every taxi in the town is outside the ground, but the men are too keen on getting a free sight of the game from the roofs of their cabs to take a fare.

Florence. It's a sporting town, Blackton.

Leo. I should have thought they'd take it as an honour to drive Metherell home.

Jack (_bitterly_). Not in the Birchester colours.

Leo (_sarcastically_). Sporting town, Blackton,

Elsie (_at white heat_). They're beasts. Beasts. They jeered. They're glad he's hurt.

Jack. That's what you've done for me, Mr. Whitworth. I'm laughed at in Blackton. Last Saturday I was their idol, and now----

Austin. You've done it for yourself, my boy.

Jack (_hotly_). You transferred me.

Austin. I meant the broken arm, not the broken idol. Jack (_scornfully_). Do you still think I did it purposely? Austin. I don't think, Metherell. I know. And I'm very much obliged to you. The chances are it's won the match.

Jack (_sulkily_). It was an accident.

Austin (_playing his last card_). Oh, you needn't keep that up before the family. That reminds me. (_Turning to them._) Leo, Florence, this is your future brother-in-law, Jack Metherell, the sporting footballer, who's sold a match to buy my consent to his marrying Elsie.

(_He watches Leo and Florence for the effect. Jack steps forward, but Elsie stops him._)

Elsie. Hush, Jack.

Florence (_coldly_). I don't believe it, father. That consenting business went out with the flood.

Leo (_to Jack_). Did you ask my father's consent?

Jack. Yes.

Leo. It's just credible, Flo.

Florence. In England? In the twentieth century? Leo. These quaint old customs linger. Half the world doesn't know how the other half thinks.

Austin (_who has been looking on amazed_). But aren't you horrified?

Leo. At his asking? No. Merely interested in the survival of an archaism.

Austin. At his selling a match, man!

Leo. A man who would ask papa is capable of anything.

Elsie. He's not capable of dishonesty.

Austin. Oh, you're blind with love.

Elsie. I have his word.

Austin (_scoffing_). His word!

Elsie. Yes. Jack Metherell's word. The word of the man I'm going to marry.

Austin (_indicating Jack's arm_). Deeds speak louder than words.

Jack (_with resolution_). Yes, Mr. Whitworth, they do. You think you've won this match. We'll see.

Elsie (_frightened_). Jack, what are you going to do?

Jack. Play. Play for Birchester as I've never played for Blackton. I'll show him if I sold the match.

Leo. No. I say. You mustn't do that with a broken arm.

Jack. Yes. Broken arm and all.

Leo. It's madness. Look here, I believe you. So does Elsie.

Florence. And I.

Leo. We all do, except father, and I assure you he's subject to hallucinations. Thinks he can play the piano. Thinks my poetry's bad. Thinks you're a rotter. All sorts of delusions.

Jack (_stubbornly_). Birchester must win. I'm going on that field to show them all what football is.

(_As he speaks Wells and Edmund enter._)

Wells (_with calm authority_). I think not, Metherell.

Jack. Out of my way, Doctor.

Wells. I forbid it.

Jack. Much I care for your forbidding.

Wells. One moment, Metherell. The play is extraordinarily rough. It's Blackton's game to lame their opponents.

Edmund. More like a shambles than a game.

Wells (_to Austin_). The referee is strangely kind to Blackton, Mr. Whitworth.

Austin. Oh?

Jack (_suspiciously_). What? What's that you said?

Wells. I say if I were referee I'd have ordered off half the Blackton team for rough play. This is no match for a damaged man, Metherell.

Jack. So you did try the referee, Mr. Whitworth.

Austin. I don't understand you.

Jack. Don't you? Well, rough or smooth, I'm going through it now. (_To Wells._) Thanks for your warning. (_To Austin._) And I warn _you_ that referee had best be careful now, or I'll report him.

Elsie (_holding him_). For my sake, Jack.

Jack (_gently shaking her off_). It is for your sake, Elsie, not for his. His consent's nothing to me after this. My record's going to be clean.

(_Exit Jack._)

Austin (_rubbing his hands_). Ah! Splendid. Edmund, I've brought you down from town for nothing. The match is ours.

Edmund (_drily_). Then I can devote my undivided attention to the problem of my niece. But why's the match yours?

Austin. Metherell is kind enough to give it us. An injured player is a nuisance to his side--no use and only in the way.

Elsie. You don't know Jack.

Austin. Oh yes, I do. You think he's a hero. I know he's a fool.

Elsie. Then he's an honest fool, and----

Austin. I haven't time to argue the point now. I want a word with the referee before the game recommences. (_Going._)

Elsie. So Jack was right. You did bribe the referee!

Austin. Elsie, if you don't want us all to starve, you'll keep a tight hold of your tongue.

Leo. Starve!

Elsie. Starve! What----

Austin. Oh, ask your uncle.

Elsie. I haven't time. I'm going to Jack's home to see that all's prepared for him.

Austin. Oh, go to---- Go where you like.

Elsie. I usually do.

(_Exit Austin._)

Edmund. Now, Elsie, about this footballer.

Elsie (_moving_). I shall be rather busy turning his bedroom into a hospital for the next hour, uncle.

Edmund. You're to do nothing so compromising.

Elsie (_scornfully_). Compromising!

Edmund. If you insist on going, I shall come with you.

Elsie. You will look funny in Elizabeth Street.

Edmund. I prefer to look ridiculous than that you should look indiscreet.

Leo (_at window, crossing_). There's the whistle. Come along, Flo.

Florence. Yes. They're playing.

(_Exeunt Florence and Leo._)

Elsie. You mean to come?

Edmund. I don't mean you to go alone.

Elsie. I wish you were in London, uncle. Your intentions are so good.

CURTAIN.