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BROXOPP. Well?

(NANCY takes his hand and presses it.)

JACK. Well, then—I’m—I’m—— (From the heart) Well, I’m simply fed up with Broxopp’s Beans.

BROXOPP (surprised). But you haven’t had them since you were a baby.

JACK (seeing the opening). Haven’t had them? Have I ever stopped having them? Weren’t they rammed down my throat at school till I was sick of them? Did they ever stop pulling my leg about them at Oxford? Can I go anywhere without seeing that beastly poster—a poster of me—me, if you please—practically naked—telling everybody that I love my Beans. Don’t I see my name—Broxopp, Broxopp, Broxopp—everywhere in every size of lettering—on every omnibus, on every hoarding; spelt out in three colours at night—B-R-O-X-O-P-P—until I can hardly bear the sight of it. Free bottles given away on my birthday, free holidays for Broxopp mothers to celebrate my coming of age! I’m not a man at all. I’m just a living advertisement of Beans.

BROXOPP (quietly). I think that’s putting it a little too strongly, Jack.