"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?"

"Where's who?"

"The liner."

"She's off down the river, I guess. She was swinging round, the last I
seen of her."