"I'll admit that," he growled. "And it's a big miss, too. There's
not only no fun without 'em--no real sport--no competition; but
these women aren't WOMANLY. You know they aren't."
That kind of talk always set Jeff going; and I gradually grew
to side with him. "Then you don't call a breed of women whose
one concern is motherhood--womanly?" he asked.
"Indeed I don't," snapped Terry. "What does a man care for
motherhood--when he hasn't a ghost of a chance at fatherhood?
And besides--what's the good of talking sentiment when we are
just men together? What a man wants of women is a good deal
more than all this `motherhood'!"
We were as patient as possible with Terry. He had lived about
nine months among the "Colonels" when he made that outburst;
and with no chance at any more strenuous excitement than our
gymnastics gave us--save for our escape fiasco. I don't suppose
Terry had ever lived so long with neither Love, Combat, nor
Danger to employ his superabundant energies, and he was irritable.
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