I thought for a moment that the shock of the accident had made him silly, but before I could speak Joyce came out of the cabin carrying half a tumbler of neat whisky. "You get that down your neck," said Tommy, "and you'll feel like a two-year-old." I don't know if whisky is really the correct antidote for Thames water, but at all events our guest accepted the glass and shifted its contents without a quiver. As soon as he had finished Tommy took him by the arm and helped him to his feet. "Now come along into the cabin," he said, "and I'll see if I can fix you up with some dry kit." Then turning to me he added: "You might get the sails up again while we're dressing, Neil; it's a pity to waste any of this breeze." I nodded, and resigning the tiller to Joyce, climbed up on to the deck, and proceeded to reset both the mainsail and the spinnaker, which were lying in splendid confusion along the top of the cabin. I had just concluded this operation when Tommy and our visitor reappeared--the latter looking rather comic in a grey jersey, a pair of white flannel trousers, and an old dark blue cricketing blazer and cap. "I've been telling our friend Mr. Gow that he's got to sue these chaps," said Tommy. "He knows who they are: they're a couple of Germans who've got a bungalow on Sheppey, close to that little creek we used to put in at." "You make 'em pay," continued Tommy. "They haven't a leg to stand on, rushing past like that. They as near as possible swamped us." Mr. Gow cast a critical eye round the _Betty_. "Ay! and you'd take a deal o' swampin,' mister. She's a fine manly little ship, an' that's a fact." Then he paused. "It's hard on a man to lose his boat," he added quietly; "specially when 'is livin' depends on 'er." "What do you do?" I asked. "What's your job?" Mr. Gow hesitated for a moment. "Well, in a manner o' speakin', I haven't got what you might call no reg'lar perfession, sir. I just picks up what I can outer the river like. I rows folks out to their boats round Tilbury way, and at times I does a bit of eel fishing--or maybe in summer there's a job lookin' arter the yachts at Leigh and Southend. It all comes the same to me, sir." "Do you know Cunnock Creek?" asked Tommy. "Cunnock Crick!" repeated Mr. Gow. "Why, I should think I did, sir. My cottage don't lie more than a mile from Cunnock Crick. Is that where you're makin' for?" Tommy nodded. "We were thinking of putting in there," he said. "Is there enough water?" "Plenty o' water, sir--leastways there will be by the time we get up. It runs a bit dry at low tide, but there's always a matter o' three to four feet in the middle o' the channel." This was excellent news, for the _Betty_ with her centre-board up only drew about three feet six, so except at the very lowest point the creek would always be navigable. "Is it a safe place to leave a boat for the night with no one on board?" inquired Tommy.