Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

Mrs. Dearly got out all her best bath salt and bath oils and all the lovely coloured bathtowels given to her as wedding presents. The Nannies lit fires in every room. Then the three bathing teams got to work. Soon the house was filled with steam and the scent of lilac, roses, and jasmine, mixed with the delightful smell of wet dogs. It took less time than you would believe, because five pups were put in a bath at a time. They were then pups then wrapped in pink, blue, yellow and green towels and carried to blazing fires to dry. Mr. Dearly thoughtfully turned the drawing-room carpet over so that the soot on it would not come off on the clean pups.

By the time the last pup was washed, the steaks were arriving. There were enough for everyone, even the humans—who were by this time pretty hungry. (They had theirs cooked.)

At last the Splendid Vet and his wife went home, and the house settled for the night. Pongo and Missis showed plainly that they wanted to sleep in their own baskets, with their puppies round them on the hearthrug and in armchairs. Perdita took her little lot into the laundry, on a rather good satin eiderdown. The other pups slept all over the house, on beds, sofas, and chairs. The Dearlys and the Nannies managed to keep chairs for themselves—rather hard ones, but they did not mind because they didn’t expect to sleep much. They wanted to be on hand in case any pup needed anything in the night.

When all was quiet in the firelit kitchen and their fifteen pups were asleep, Pongo said to Missis, “Do you remember that night we left—how we looked back at this kitchen? Look, now, at your legal collar on its peg, ready for you to wear tomorrow—and your beautiful blue coat.”

Missis said, “I am so hardy now that I shall not need the coat. But I shall wear it from vanity.”

At that moment they heard a little noise at the window, a little scratching noise. Outside, in the midst of a white blur, were two green eyes. It was Cruella’s cat.

Swiftly Pongo let her in.

“Such goings on at the de Vils’!” she said.

Quickly Pongo turned to his wife. “I haven’t explained to you yet, Missis. Our friend here told me that if we could get into that bolted room we could destroy Mr. de Vil’s whole stock of furs. Cruella made him keep them all there, so that she could wear any she fancied. I hoped we might put an end to his furrier’s business. That was why I took the risk of going into the de Vils’ house—not to be revenged, but to make England Safe for Dalmatians.”

“And it’s even better than I hoped,” said the white cat. “Because it turns out most of the furs weren’t paid for. So Mr. de Vil’s ruined.”

“The poor little man!” said Missis. “I feel quite sorry for him.”

“No need to,” said the white cat. “He’s as bad as Cruella. The only difference is, she’s strong and bad and he’s weak and bad. Anyway, they’re going to leave England tomorrow, to get away from their debts.”

“Cruella still has her jewels,” said Missis regretfully.

“Mostly sham,” said the white cat. “And those that aren’t will be needed by Mr. de Vil, to start another business abroad. He says he’s going to make plastic raincoats.”

“Cruella won’t look very well in those,” said Missis cheerfully.

“She won’t look very well in anything,” said the cat. “You’ve heard of people’s hair going white in a single night, from shock? That’s happened to the black side of her hair. And the white side’s gone green—a horrid shade. People are going to think it’s dyed. Well, I’m glad to have finished with the de Vils.”

“But where will you go?” asked Pongo.

The white cat looked surprised. “Go? I shan’t go anywhere. I’ve just come —here. I’d have come long ago if you dogs hadn’t barked—that night your pets gave me a kind sardine. They won’t turn me out. I’ll pop up and find them now.”

Then Pongo and Missis sank into a blissful sleep without a care in the world—except that they did want to know what the Dearlys were going to do with so very many puppies. …

And so did the Dearlys!

Those readers who also want to know should read on. Besides, there is a mystery to be cleared up. Most people who are good at arithmetic are likely to think there is a mistake in this book. It is called The Hundred and One Dalmatians . Well, Pongo and Missis and Perdita make three. There were ninety-seven Dalmatian pups at Hell Hall, including those belonging to Pongo, Missis, and Perdita. Three and ninety-seven make one hundred. Where, then, is the hundred and oneth Dalmatian?

He has been mentioned, but many readers may not remember him. Those who do not will soon be reminded of him. And those who do will soon learn more about him. On to the last chapter, if you please!

Christmas day at the house in Regent’s Park was absolutely wonderful. The rather good hotels sent plenty more steaks, and though there were not, of course, enough presents to go round, the pups were able to play with lots of things in the house which were not intended to be played with (but were played with ever afterwards). The Dearlys took all the pups into the snowy park; Pongo, Missis, and Perdita circling round to make sure none got lost. And at twilight Pongo and Missis firmly led the Dearlys up to the top of Primrose Hill and barked over a Dogdom-wide network. They even managed to get a message through to the gallant old Spaniel, for two dogs from a village five miles from him made a special trip in order to bark to him. (He sent back a message that he and his dear old pet were very well.) Of course, the Dogdom-wide barking was relayed . The farthest-away dog Pongo and Missis spoke to direct was the Brigadier-General Great Dane over towards Hampstead, who was in great barking form.

“There is something very mysterious about this barking at twilight,” said Mrs. Dearly. “Do you think they are sending messages?”

Mr. Dearly said it was a charming idea but—And then he stopped. Was anything beyond dogs? Not when he thought of all Pongo and Missis had done. How had they got ninety-seven pups back from Suffolk? Pongo and Missis longed to tell him, but they never could.

As soon as Christmas was over, Mr. Dearly decided to act quickly, for he realized that one hundred Dalmatians were too much for one house in Regent’s Park. They were even a bit much for Regent’s Park.

First he advertised—in case any of the rightful owners of pups wanted to claim them. But none did—for this reason: Cruella had bought all the pups except those stolen from the Dearlys, because it costs a lot to get any expert stealing done these days. (Cruella had paid more to the dog-thieves who stole from the Dearlys than for any litter she had bought.) And, naturally, people who had sold puppies never thought of them as lost, or did anything more about them. Only one owner turned up, the farmer who had owned Perdita. And he was quite happy to sell her to the Dearlys.

So there was Mr. Dearly, lucky man, with one hundred delightful Dalmatians. He decided he must take a large country house. Happily, he could afford this, as the Government had again got itself into debt and he had again got it out. And this time he had been rewarded by an income to save his income tax on. So he had retired from business—except for being always ready to help the Government with its sums.