The 101 Dalmatians

by Dodie Smith

  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!

  The Hundred and Oneth Dalmatian

  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.

  One fine day in January, when the snow was all gone, he said to Mrs. Dearly, “Let’s drive out to Suffolk and return the little blue cart to Master Tommy Tompkins, and also hunt for a country house. And we’ll have a look at the house where the puppies were imprisoned—not that we’ll take that one.”

  Mrs. Dearly laughed at such an idea.

  They took Pongo and Missis with them, and Lucky came as a stowaway, under a seat—because he wanted to see the Sheepdog again and be made a Captain. (He didn’t stay under the seat long, and everyone was delighted to see him when he came out.) When they reached Dympling they went for a walk round the village and met Tommy Tompkins out with the Sheepdog. So the little blue cart was returned then and there—rather a relief to the Dearlys, who wouldn’t quite have known what to say to Tommy’s parents. They didn’t have to say anything to Tommy, as he still wasn’t quite talking (though his chuckling noises were at last beginning to sound more like Human than like Dog). The Dearlys saw at once that Pongo, Missis, and Lucky knew the Sheepdog—and the tabby cat that came hurrying up.

  “And now we’ll find Cruella’s house,” said Mr. Dearly.

  When they got to Hell Hall there was a large notice outside, saying: “For Sale—CHEAP. Owner gone to warm climate.” And the gates stood wide open. The house was empty.

  (The Baddun brothers were now in jail for assaulting the man who came to take away the television, which had never been paid for. They weren’t minding jail much, because meeting so many criminals was almost better than television; and they now had high hopes of one day appearing on “What’s My Crime?”)

  “What a hideous house!” said Mrs. Dearly.

  “What a lovely wall!” said Mr. Dearly. One thing had been worrying him. If he took a hundred Dalmatians into the country, how was he to prevent them from running wild? This magnificent wall was just the thing. If only the house were not so hideous!

  “Suppose it was painted white,” he said, “and the blocked-up windows were put back? There’s a lovely pond in front—almost a lake.”

  Mrs. Dearly shook her head. But when they got into the house and saw the fine, large rooms and imagined them all white instead of red, she began to feel different.

  Pongo, Mi
ssis, and Lucky raced through the kitchen and larder, remembering all that had happened there. The Dearlys followed them and saw the furnace for the central heating. Then they all went out to the stables.

  “These would make fine kennels if they were heated,” said Mr. Dearly.

  Then he looked up and saw the Folly, and both he and Mrs. Dearly took a fancy to it. And they decided then and there to buy Hell Hall and make it into a beautiful house.

  “Here we will found a Dynasty of Dalmatians,” said Mr. Dearly.

  Missis was insulted. She thought the word meant a nasty din. But Pongo explained that it meant a family that goes on and on.

  Mr. Dearly added, “And we’d better start a Dynasty of Dearlys, to look after the Dynasty of Dalmatians.” And Mrs. Dearly quite agreed.

  The alterations to Hell Hall were quickly made, and one sunny day in early spring a removal van and an extra large double-decker motor-coach stood outside the house in Re-gent’s Park. The van was for the furniture. The coach was for the Dearlys and the Dalmatians. The Nannies had already gone down by car, to open Hell Hall, Nanny Butler driving. She had added a smart chauffeur’s cap to her butler’s outfit.

  Mr. Dearly came out of the house with Pongo and Missis. Mrs. Dearly followed with Perdita, and with the white cat on her shoulder. (The white cat too was to start a Dynasty at Hell Hall. The Dearlys had promised her a white Persian husband.)

  Within the next few minutes two surprising things happened. First, just as Missis saw the removal van and said, “Oh, there’s a miracle,” a Staffordshire Terrier flung itself from the van, said, “Here we are again,” to Pongo and Missis, and hurled itself at Mr. Dearly’s chest.

  “That’s a compliment, if you only knew it,” said Jim, who was standing by the van.

  “That’s right,” said Bill. “Old Battering Ram’s fallen for you.”

  “And I for him,” said Mr. Dearly politely, rising from a sitting position.

  Pongo and Missis managed to quieten the Staffordshire before he paid any compliments to Mrs. Dearly. And then the second surprising thing happened. A large car had drawn up, and the people in it were looking at Pongo, Missis, and Perdita with interest. Suddenly there was a wild commotion in the car, and then the door burst open and out sprang a superb liver-spotted Dalmatian. He dashed up to Perdita. It was her long-lost husband.

  His name was Prince. The people in the big car were much touched by his faithfulness to Perdita and at once offered him to the Dearlys, saying they would be glad of a good home for him as they were always going abroad and having to leave him in kennels. Prince was delighted. Apart from wanting to be with Perdita, he knew good pets when he saw them.

  So the Dalmatians started for Suffolk, one hundred and one strong. They all sat up on the motor-coach seats, looking out of the windows, and many people who saw them pass cheered—for there had been so much about them in the papers that they were now quite famous. And many, many dogs lined the route, as word of the journey had gone out by Twilight Barking. The waiting dogs barked their good wishes, and the Dalmatians barked their thanks, so it was rather noisy in the motor-coach. The Dearlys didn’t mind. They thought happy barking was a pleasant noise.

  Prince was rather shy at first, so Mr. Dearly sat beside him and punched him, in a way some big dogs like to be punched. (The punching needs to be hard enough but not too hard; it must please, not hurt. Mr. Dearly was a highly skilled dog puncher.) Prince thumped his tail, then suddenly gave Mr. Dearly’s ear a playful nip, which was much appreciated. After that, Perdita’s handsome husband felt he was completely one of the family.

  When the Dalmatians reached the village of Dympling, all the villagers were out to receive them, with the Sheepdog, the tabby cat, and Tommy Tompkins well to the fore. (The cows were lowing a loving welcome from the farm.) Tommy had his little blue cart with him, and the Cadpig felt just a bit envious—but she was happy to know she had grown too strong to need any cart.

  The white Persian Cat, who was now a charming creature (kindness makes kind cats), was extremely gracious to the farmyard tabby. It was the beginning of a firm friendship.

  At last the motor-coach drove in through the wide-open gates of Hell Hall. The pond now reflected a snow-white house with muslin curtains at all the windows. The front of the house still seemed like a face and had an expression—but now it was a pleasant expression.

  The Nannies were waiting at the open front door. As they came to meet the Dearlys, Nanny Butler said, “Do you know there is a television aerial on the roof of this house?”

  And Nanny Cook said, “Seems wasteful not to make use of it.”

  Then Mr. Dearly knew that the Nannies wished for television in the kitchen and he at once suggested it. Pongo and Missis were delighted, for they knew how very much their smallest daughter had missed it.

  But during the many happy hours the Cadpig was to sit watching it in the warm kitchen, she never liked it quite so much as that other television—that still, silent television she had seen on Christmas Eve, when the puppies had rested so peacefully in the strange, lofty building. She often remembered that building, and wondered who owned it—someone very kind, she was sure. For in front of every one of the many seats there had been a little carpet-eared, puppy-sized dog-bed.