Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

“I’ve been slack,” she said. “I could have got at these years ago.”

“One needs company for a job like this,” said Pongo.

“No more furs to tear now,” said the Cadpig sadly. She had just shredded a little sable tippet all by herself.

“Quiet!” barked Pongo suddenly. Had his ears deceived him? No, there it was again—a distant blast from the loudest motor-horn in England! The next instant, the pups outside barked the alarm.

“Down, down to the coal cellar!” barked Pongo.

There was a wild scurry of pups down the dark stairs. The white cat sprang to a window. “You’ll have time,” she cried. “The car’s only just turned into the Outer Circle.”

But Pongo knew how fast that car could come. And pups were falling over one another in the darkness; there were bumps and yelps. Roly Poly fell through the banisters—it was amazing that he was not hurt. But at last they were all streaming out of the coal cellar into the mews.

“In your places for counting!” barked Pongo. He had long ago invented a quick way of counting the army. Pups formed nine rows of ten, and one row of seven, which included the Cadpig in her cart. Swiftly he counted now. Ninety-three, ninety-four—There were three pups missing!

“They must be somewhere in the house,” cried Missis. “We must rescue them!”

Pongo dashed towards the coal cellar—then stopped, gasping with relief. Lucky and the two loud-barked pups were just coming from the front of the house. Pongo had forgotten them in his counting. The army was complete!

“Cruella’s nearly here,” said Lucky.

“We must make sure she’s gone indoors before we march on,” said Pongo, and he ran into the narrow passage that led to the Outer Circle.

Missis ran after him. “Be careful, Pongo! She’ll see you!”

“Not in this dark passage,” said Pongo.

The striped car went by the end of the passage. A light was on inside, and they could see Cruella clearly.

“Oh, Pongo!” wailed Missis. “She’s still got her absolutely simple white mink cloak!”

Pongo ran on towards the Outer Circle, and Missis ran after him. Cautiously they peered out of the passage and saw the striped car stop in front of the de Vils’ house. Mr. de Vil, who had been driving, helped Cruella out and then went up the front-door steps. He started to search for his latchkey. Cruella stood waiting, with the cloak hanging loosely round her shoulders.

“I shan’t sleep if she keeps that cloak,” said Missis. “And you need your sleep, Missis,” said Pongo.

The same idea had come to both of them. The cloak hung so loosely, so temptingly! And the relief of getting the pups safely out of the house had made them feel daring. Pongo was happy to see his dear wife looking as mischievous as a puppy.

“She’ll never recognize us now we’re black,” he said. “Let’s risk it! Now!”

They dashed towards Cruella and seized the hem of the cloak. It slipped from her shoulders quite easily—and fell on top of Pongo and Missis. Blindly they hurled themselves along the Outer Circle, with the cloak spread out over them and looking as if it were running by itself. Cruella screamed. “It’s bewitched! Go after it—quick!”

“No fear!” said Mr. de Vil. “I think an ancestor of yours is running away with it. You’d better come indoors.”

The next moment, he and Cruella started to cough violently. For as they opened the front door they were met by a choking cloud of fur.

Somehow Pongo and Missis found their way to the passage, where they came from under the cloak and dragged it to the mews. Here the pups pounced on it. And that was the end of the absolutely simple white mink cloak.

Lights were now flashing on all over the de Vil’s house, and Cruella could be heard shrieking with range.

“This is where we march home quickly,” said Pongo.

Suddenly all her high spirits deserted Missis. Home! But would they be allowed into their home? All her fears came back.

Now they were marching along the Outer Circle again. And now they could see the Dearlys’ house ahead of them.

There were lights in the drawing-room window.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dearly haven’t gone to bed yet,” said Pongo.

Lights were shining up from the kitchen.

“The Nannies are still awake,” said Missis. She said it brightly; no one could have guessed how frightened she was, though her heart was thumping so hard that she was afraid Pongo would hear it. Why should the Dearlys let a mob of strange black dogs into the house? And unless they did get in, how could they show the Dearlys they were not strange black dogs? Barking would not help. She and Pongo would need to get close to their pets, close enough to put their sooty heads against the Dearlys’ knees, or their sooty paws around the Dearlys’ necks.

Suppose they were all turned away—ninety-nine hungry Dalmatians, outcasts in the night?

At that moment snow began to fall again, very, very thickly.

The Dearlys, the Nannies, and Perdita had spent a sad Christmas Eve. They had all been very kind to each other. Perdita had washed the humans so much that they all had chapped hands and had to use gallons of hand lotion. Fortunately, Perdita quite liked the taste of this.

(She had received no news by way of the Twilight Barking. Reception was bad in that part of Regent’s Park—which was why Pongo had done his barking, and listening, from Primrose Hill.)

In the afternoon the Nannies trimmed the Christmas tree. They said it was for Perdita, but they really hoped to cheer the Dearlys up. The Dearlys put Perdita’s presents on it, but they had not the heart to get out the presents which they had bought for Pongo, Missis, and fifteen puppies just in case they all came home. Mr. Dearly had guessed that Pongo and Missis were searching for their family, but he now feared that family might be scattered all over England, and the best he really hoped for was that Pongo and Missis might return.

When snow first began to fall, everyone felt worse that ever. “And Missis didn’t even take her coat,” said Mrs. Dearly. She pictured Pongo and Missis lost, shivering, and starving. So did Mr. Dearly. But they kept the horrid thought to themselves.

In the evening the Dearlys invited the Nannies to come up to the drawing room, and they all played nursery card games: Snap, Beggar-my-Neighbour, and Animal Grab. They all pretended to enjoy themselves, which was very hard work. At last Mr. Dearly said he would put some Christmas carols on the gramophone.

Now, carols are always beautiful, but if you are sad they can make you feel sadder. (There are some people who always find beauty makes them feel sadder, which is very mysterious thing.) Soon the Dealys and the Nannies could hardly keep the tears out of their eyes. When Mr. Dearly realized this, he thought, “This must be the last carol we play.” It was “Silent Night.” Mrs. Dearly put out the lights and drew back the curtains at the tall windows, so that they could see the stars while they listened. And she saw it was snowing again.