"Oh," I replied easily, "I occasionally yachted."
"On what kind of a boat?" he urged.
"Now for the life of me, sir, I can't quite recall," I replied. "It
was a splendid boat though, a perfect beauty, handsomely fitted up and
all--I think they called her the 'Black Wing.'"
These few little remarks seemed to leave the officer flat. He regarded
me with a pitiful expression. There was pain in his eyes.
"You mean to say," he whispered, "that you don't know what kind of a
boat it was?"
"Unfortunately no, sir," I replied, feeling really sorry for the
wounded man.
"Do you recall what was the nature of your activities aboard this
mysterious craft?" he continued.
"Oh, indeed I do, sir," I replied. "I tended the jib-sheet."
"Ah," said he thoughtfully, "sort of specialized on the jib-sheet?"
"That's it, sir," said I, feeling things taking a turn for the better.
"I specialized on the jib-sheet."
"What did you do to this jib-sheet?" he continued.
"I clewed it," said I promptly, dimly recalling the impassioned
instructions an enthusiastic friend of mine had shunted at me
throughout the course of one long, hot, horrible, confused afternoon
of the past summer--my first, and, as I had hoped at the time, final
sailing experience.
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