The skipper's daughter was standing beside him, looking down commiseratingly. Of the rest of the family all he could see was the broad blue seats of their trousers as they leaned hopefully over the side in the quest for wealth.
"Yessir! You sure are wet! Gee! I never seen anyone so wet! I seen wet guys, but I never seen anyone so wet as you. Yessir, you're certainly wet!"
"I am wet," admitted Sam.
"Yessir, you're wet! Wet's the word all right. Good and wet, that's what you are!"
"It's the water," said Sam. His brain was still clouded; he wished he could remember what that appointment was. "That's what has made me wet."
"It's sure made you wet all right," agreed the girl. She looked at him interestedly. "Wotcha do it for?" she asked.
"Do it for?"
"Yes, wotcha do it for? How come? Wotcha do a Brodie for off'n that ship? I didn't see it myself, but pa says you come walloping down off'n the deck like a sack of potatoes."
Sam uttered a sharp cry. He had remembered.
"Where is she?"