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.