Читать книгу The Hundred and One Dalmatians Modern Classic - Dodie Smith - Страница 11

AS THEY WALKED the Dearlys home, Pongo said to Missis: ‘Did you hear who owns the house where the puppies are imprisoned?’

Missis said: ‘No, Pongo. I’m afraid I missed many things the Great Dane barked.’

‘I will tell you everything later,’ said Pongo.

He was faced with a problem. He now knew that his terrible suspicions were justified and it was time Missis learned the truth. But if he told her before dinner she might lose her appetite, and if he told her afterwards she might lose her dinner. So still he said nothing. And he made her eat every crumb of dinner and then join him in asking for more – which the Nannies gave with delight.

‘It may be a long time before we get another meal,’ he explained.

While the Nannies fed the Dearlys, the dogs made their plans. Perdita at once offered to come to Suffolk with them.

‘But you are still much too delicate for the journey, dear Perdita,’ said Missis. ‘Besides, what could you do?’

‘I could wash the puppies,’ said Perdita.

Both Pongo and Missis then said they knew Perdita was a beautiful puppy-washer but her job must be to comfort the Dearlys. And she felt that herself.

‘If only we could make them understand why we are leaving them!’ said Missis, sadly.

‘If we could do that, we shouldn’t have to leave them,’ said Pongo. ‘They would drive us to Suffolk in the car. And send the police.’

‘Oh, let us have one more try to speak their language,’ said Missis.

The Dearlys were sitting by the fire in the big white drawing-room. They welcomed the two dogs and offered them the sofa. But Pongo and Missis had no wish for a comfortable nap. They stood together, looking imploringly at the Dearlys.

Then Pongo barked gently: ‘Wuff, wuff, wuffolk!’

Mr Dearly patted him but understood nothing.

Then Missis tried: ‘Wuff, wuff, wuffolk!’

‘Are you telling us the puppies are in Suffolk?’ said Mrs Dearly.

The dogs wagged their tails wildly. But Mrs Dearly was only joking. It was hopeless and the dogs knew it always would be.

Dogs can never speak the language of humans and humans can never speak the language of dogs. But many dogs can understand almost every word humans say, while humans seldom learn to recognise more than half a dozen barks, if that. And barks are only a small part of the dog language. A wagging tail can mean so many things. Humans know that it means a dog is pleased, but not what a dog is saying about his pleasedness. (Really, it is very clever of humans to understand a wagging tail at all, as they have no tails of their own.) Then there are the snufflings and sniffings, the pricking of ears – all meaning different things. And many, many words are expressed by a dog’s eyes.

It was with their eyes that Pongo and Missis spoke most that evening, for they knew the Dearlys could at least understand one eye-word. That word was ‘love’ and the dogs said it again and again, leaning their heads against the Dearlys’ knees. And the Dearlys said ‘Dear Pongo’, ‘Dear Missis’, again and again.

‘They’re asking us to find their puppies, I know they are,’ said Mrs Dearly, never guessing that, as well as declaring their love, the dogs were saying: ‘We are going to find the puppies. Please forgive us for leaving you. Please have faith in our safe return.’

At eleven o’clock the dogs gave Mrs Dearly’s hand one last kiss and took Mr Dearly out for his last run. Perdita joined them for this. She had spent the evening with the Nannies, feeling that Pongo and Missis might wish to be alone with their pets. Then all three dogs went to their baskets in the warm kitchen and the house settled for the night.

But it did not settle for long. Shortly before midnight, Pongo and Missis got up, ate some biscuits they had hidden, and took long drinks of water. Then they said a loving goodbye to Perdita, who was in tears, nosed open a window at the back of the house, and got out into the mews. (They knew they could not open the gate at the top of the area steps.) Carefully, they nosed the window shut, so that Perdita would not get a chill, and then went round to the area railings to give her one last smile. (Dogs smile in various ways; Pongo and Missis smiled by wrinkling their noses.) She was there at the kitchen window, bravely trying to wag her tail.

Beyond Perdita, Missis could see the three cushioned baskets in the rosy glow from the fire. She thought of the many peaceful nights she had spent in hers, in the happy days when a dog could fall asleep looking forward to breakfast. Poor Missis! Of course she loved Pongo, the puppies, the Dearlys and the Nannies – and dear, kind Perdita – best of everything in the world. But she also loved her creature comforts. Never had her home seemed so dear to her as now when she was leaving it for a dangerous, unknown world.

And it was such a cold world. The night was fine, the stars were brilliant, but the wind was keen. If only she could have brought her beautiful blue coat, now hanging on a peg in the warm kitchen!

Pongo saw her shiver. It is a hard thing for a loving husband to see his wife shiver.

‘Are you cold, Missis?’ he asked, anxiously.

‘No, Pongo,’ said Missis, still shivering.

‘I am,’ said Pongo, untruthfully. ‘But I shall soon warm up.’

He tail-wagged goodbye to Perdita, then started off briskly along the Outer Circle, looking very spirited. Missis kept pace with him; but after its last wag to Perdita her tail went down.

After a few minutes, Pongo said: ‘Are you warmer now, Missis?’

‘Yes, Pongo,’ said Missis, still shivering. And still her tail was down.

Pongo knew that if he could not cheer her up she would never be able to face the hardships that lay ahead. And he thought he could do with some cheering up himself. So he began a little speech, intended to give them both courage.

‘I sometimes think,’ he said, ‘that you and I have become a bit pampered. Well, pampering does good dogs no harm, provided they don’t come to depend on it. If they do, they become old before their time. We should never lose our liking for adventure, never forget our wild ancestry.’ (They were then passing the Zoo.) ‘Oh, I know we are worried about the puppies but the more we worry, the less we shall be able to help them. We must be brave, we must even be gay, we must know we cannot fail. Are you warmer now, Missis?’

‘Yes, Pongo,’ said Missis. But still she shivered and still her tail drooped.

They were now nearly at the bridge which leads from the Outer Circle towards Camden Town.

‘Stop for a moment,’ said Pongo. And he turned and looked back along the curve of the Circle. No car was in sight, no light was in any window. The lamp-posts were like sentinels guarding the sleeping park.

‘Think of the day when we come back with fifteen puppies running behind us,’ said Pongo.

‘Oh, Pongo, are you sure?’

‘Absolutely sure,’ said Pongo. ‘Are you a little warmer now, dear Missis?’

‘Yes, Pongo,’ said Missis. ‘And this time it is true.’

‘Then onwards to Suffolk!’ said Pongo.

And as they ran towards the bridge Missis carried her tail as high as his.

‘Not too high, Missis dear,’ said Pongo. ‘Let our hearts be gay, but not our tails.’ For when a Dalmatian’s tail is curled high over the back it is called a ‘gay’ tail and is a bad fault.

Missis was still laughing at this little joke when her heart gave a wild flutter. Coming towards them was a policeman.

Instantly, Pongo led the way into a back street, and they were soon safely out of the policeman’s sight. But seeing him had reminded Missis of something.

‘Oh, Pongo!’ she wailed. ‘We are illegal. We are out without our collars.’

‘And a good thing, too,’ said Pongo, ‘for a dog can be grabbed by the collar. But I do wish we could have brought your coat.’ He had noticed that she was shivering again – though this time it was because she had been scared by the policeman.

‘I don’t,’ said Missis, bravely. ‘For if I wore a coat, how should I know how cold the puppies were? They have no coats. Oh, Pongo, how can they make the journey from Suffolk in such wintry weather? Suppose it snows?’

‘They may not have to make the journey yet,’ said Pongo.

Missis stared in astonishment. ‘But we must get them back quickly or the dog thieves will sell them.’

‘Nothing will happen to them yet,’ said Pongo. And now he knew it was time to tell his wife the truth. ‘Let’s rest a moment,’ he said, and led Missis into the shelter of a doorway. Then he went on gently: ‘Dear Missis, our puppies were not stolen by ordinary dog thieves. Try not to be too frightened. Remember we are going to rescue them. Our puppies were stolen by Cruella de Vil’s orders – so that she can have their skins made into a fur coat. Oh, Missis, be brave!’

Missis had collapsed. She lay on the doorstep, panting, her eyes full of horror.

‘But it will be all right, dear Missis! They will be safe for months yet. They are much too small to be – to be used for a fur coat yet.’

Missis shuddered. Then she struggled to her feet.

‘I will go back!’ she cried. ‘I will go back and tear Cruella de Vil to pieces.’

‘That would do no good at all,’ said Pongo, firmly. ‘We must rescue the puppies first and think of our revenge later. On to Suffolk!’

‘On to Suffolk, then!’ said Missis, staggering along on shaky legs. ‘But we shall come back, Cruella de Vil!’

Soon Missis began to feel better, for Pongo made her see that puppies whose skins were wanted for a fur coat would be well fed and well taken care of, and kept together. Ordinary dog thieves might have sold them already, and to different people. She asked many questions and he told of his early suspicions – how he had suddenly recalled the evening they had first seen Cruella and sat under the piano in the red drawing-room.

‘She said we would make enchanting fur coats, Missis.’

‘For spring wear, over a black suit,’ said Missis, remembering. ‘And she did take a lot of interest in the puppies.’

‘And she kept Nanny Cook talking while they were stolen,’ said Pongo. ‘But I wasn’t quite sure until this evening, at the Twilight Barking. You didn’t hear as much as I did, Missis. Our puppies are at Hell Hall, the ancestral home of the de Vils.’

And he knew, though he kept this from Missis, that the SOS on the old bone meant ‘Save Our Skins’.