The young fireman turned.
"That grand big cat of yours, ma'am? You'll never coax a cat into an open boat. They'll die first. But have no fear. We are not a hundred yards from shore, and in shallow water at that. 'Tis a pity the Lucy is hurt, but it's fortunate for us that she can limp ashore."
Marian felt a little foolish. She pulled off the cork jacket which Rod had tied over her shoulders.
"We aren't shipwrecked after all, Rod. We're worse frightened than hurt."
"I'm not so sure of that. Keep that life-preserver on, Sis."
The Lucy was blundering pluckily toward shore. But the deck jarred with the thud and rattle of thrashing machinery, and at every forward plunge the boat pitched until it seemed as if the next fling would surely capsize her.
Rod peered into the darkness.
"We'll make the shore, I do believe. Shall I leave you long enough to get our bags and Empress?"
"Oh, I'll go too. You'll need me to pacify Empress. She will be panic-stricken."
Poor Empress was panic-stricken, indeed. The little cabin was a chaos. The shock of the collision had overturned every piece of furniture. Even the wall cabinets were upset, and their shells and arrowheads were scattered far and wide. The beautiful old-time crystal chandeliers were in splinters. Worst, the big gilt mirror lay on the floor, smashed to atoms. Only one object in all that cabin held its place: the stuffed eagle. And high on the eagle's outspread wing, crouched like a panther, snarling and spitting, her every silky hair furiously on end, clung poor, terrified Empress. Rod exploded.