He had tied a silk handkerchief over his soft felt hat and under his chin.
"No, no!" he said, as Septimus Marvin made room for him on the after-thwart.

"I'm too heavy for a passenger.

Put my weight on an oar," and he clambered forward to a vacant thwart.
"Mind you come back for us, River Andrew!" cried little Sep's thin voice, as the boat swirled down stream.

His wavering bull's-eye lantern followed it, and showed River Andrew and another pulling stroke to John Turner's bow, for the banker had been a famous oar on the Orwell in his boyhood.

Then, with a smack like a box on the ear, another snow-squall swept in from the sea, and forced all on the quay to turn their backs and crouch.