Now that I was face to face with my folly, I recovered my senses, and, while I felt puzzled by the contradictions he presented, I was brave enough to take advantage of opportunity.
“You must allow me to congratulate you upon your rescue and that of your crew, Mr. Holford,” I said. “You had a narrow escape.”
“The congratulations are due to the gallantry of your coast guards,” he answered, with enthusiasm.
“I am sorry about the yacht,” I continued; “she is still holding together, for one mast thrusts itself out of the water at low tide and looks so pathetic.”
“A monument to bad seamanship,” he said, impatiently. “It is the last boat I shall ever attempt to sail.”
“But isn’t sailing your occupation?” I asked, aghast at his easy way of laying down his livelihood. “There must be plenty of gentlemen needing sailing masters, even if this one especial yacht has gone to the bottom.”
He stared at me blankly, and then a quizzical look came into his eyes, as he answered:
“Few gentlemen care to employ an unsuccessful sailing master; indeed, I am not sure but that my license will be revoked. No, no, the ocean has thrown me upon the land, and I mean to take the hint.”
“It seems hard to begin life all over again,” I said, sympathetically.
He impressed me as a man gently nurtured, who had adopted a profession for which he was not originally intended.