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.