"No. I can't see the use of it. We're all animals like the wild folk, the beasts of the field, the birds. They get along all right."
"Birds mate, don't they?" she put in.
"Oh, yes, but they don't need a minister to mate 'em. They just hop about together a bit and then start their nest. It's simple as rolling off a log."
"That's what humans do, as you say; they just hop about a bit and then get married."
"But marriage doesn't make 'em any happier, does it? I'm sure I wouldn't want to be tied down to one woman as long as I lived. Suppose I changed my mind or suppose she did."
"You wouldn't change your mind if you loved a woman."
"Love!" he sneered. "There you go. I thought you'd say that."
"You don't believe in love, then?" she asked.
"It seems to me that there's a lot of sentimental rubbish written about it. What's the use of talking so much about a thing that's as plain as the nose on your face? Love means loyalty, friendship, honor and everything that's fine, but when the classic poets begin writing reams of rot about it, it's time—it's time somebody was sensible."
"Poor Jerry," she laughed. "I'm so sorry for you."