`Never mind,' said the Maltese, but not at all graciously, 'you may bide a while. I was just going myself. At any rate, you haven't lost your manners in London, which is something, though I can't say as much for your friend. Good day to you,' and she arose and left.
It was just in time, for Jennie's tail was lashing and waving violently….
Oh!' she cried, 'what a thoroughly odious person. If that's at my relatives are like, I shan't be wanting any more of them. And did you hear her-"What's London got that we haven't twice better?" And she dared to talk about someone being provincial. Of course she isn't really Scottish at all, with all that Italian blood in her. The Scottish are kind and hospitable, once they get to know you …'
The words 'kind' and 'hospitable' suddenly made Peter feel very sad. For, truth to tell, he was missing the friendly companionship of the weird crew of the Countess of Greenock, and even though he was learning to look after himself and had Jennie constantly by his side for company he knew that there was something lacking and that cats were not meant to live as they were living.
And besides, it was cold, wet and drizzly, and in spite of it being beneath the arch of the huge bridge where the rain could not get at them for the moment, the wind was blowing damp in from the water and they had had bad luck and had not eaten for the last twelve hours. Peter began to think not of home and his mother and father and Nanny, oddly enough, but of what it would be like to belong to someone who had a nice cozy place by the fireside for him, who would rub his head and stroke his back and scratch him under the chin, feed him regularly and let him sleep on a cushion, someone who would love him and whom he could love.
'Jennie! I wish … oh I wish we belonged to somebody… '.
The words came out in spite of himself and knowing how Jennie felt about people and having anything to do with them. But oddly enough she did not become angry with him, but only gave him a long and searching look. She opened her mouth as though about to speak, and then, apparently thinking better of it, closed it again without uttering a sound.
Encouraged, Peter was just about to say, 'Jennie, don't you think you might try just once more-' when without a moment of warning, baying, barking and slavering, three dogs burst upon them from out of the gloom around the stone and steel abutment of the suspension bridge, and were almost upon them before they could move.
There was a snap of teeth and a shrill scream from Jennie: `Peter! Run! They're killers …' and he saw her flash upwards, a giant pit bull at her heels, and the next moment, gripped by absolute terror and panic he saw the other two bearing down upon him. Long after, he could remember only the horrible burly effect of them made by their massive chests and the small, long, snake-like heads with the cropped ears and slanted eyes, now blazing with the quarry in sight. Their jaws were open, tongues lolling, white sabre teeth shining, and the sound of their feet and toenails scrabbling and pounding on the stone was horrid. And then he was off, running for his very life, around the stone abutment in which was set the tall steel south tower of the suspension bridge.
What had become of Jennie he did not know, nor in his panic could he so much as even think, but he knew her warning to be a supreme effort on her part to save him. For if the dogs once caught them, they would destroy them as cleanly and as quickly as he and Jennie had killed their rats and mice. A snap, a wrench, a toss, and it would be all over.
Never was there a sound as horrible as the hoarse, throaty growl, a murderous cry if ever there was one, and it was coming nearer as with each stride the long-legged, powerful brutes gained on Peter. There was a snick and something touched one of his hind feet, yet still managed to miss a hold. He felt their horrible breath as they closed in.
And thereafter Peter could remember nothing but going up, up, up, straight up into the air. His feet, urged on by panic, touched stone and steel, first rough then slippery and knobbed, slanted and crossed and riveted, a network of iron as it were, rising to the clouds, and as fast as his paws touched they were up and away, giving him new impetus, even higher and higher so that he did not seem to be climbing, but rather flying up and ever upwards.
The fog and the rain shrouded him in so that he could see neither where he had come from nor the next few yards higher, yet he kept on, driven by the fear that would not permit him to stop until gradually he became aware of the fact that the terrible growling and barking was no longer in his ears, nor the sound of the pursuing feet, nor, for that matter, any sound whatsoever but the distant hooting of boats somewhere, and far, far in the distance, the roar of traffic.
Only then did he dare to slow down to listen. For safety's sake he gave a couple of more spasmodic leaps still higher and then came to rest at last, but trembling from head to foot. There was no more pursuit, no dogs, nothing of anything.
He seemed to be wedged into a kind of an angle of several short lengths of riveted steel that came zigzagging up out of the swirling mists and vanished into the thicker fog above. There was a penetrating wind all about him too that seemed to pluck at him. Peter realized that he did not have the faintest idea where on earth or heaven, or between the two perhaps, that he was—or how he had got there. He wedged himself more closely into the angle of the steel and clung there with all four feet.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Lost in the Clouds
TIME went by, how much, Peter could not tell. In the distance he heard at last a clock striking six, and then another and another, almost as though for some reason he could suddenly hear all the clocks in the world announcing the hour. But whether it was in the evening or in the morning he, had no way of telling, for the shock of the sudden attack and escape had frightened him completely out of his wits.
However, now they were beginning to return to him. Whatever the hour, the gloom of darkness, fog and rain was still impenetrable and he was aware that there was nothing for him to do but remain perched where he was until he should be able to determine where it was he had got to in his frantic rush of panic.
At that moment he heard a faint call, a dear and well-remembered voice coming from out of the darkness, apparently a little below him. He shouted-'Jennie! Jennie, where are you? Are you all right?'
She replied at once, and although Peter could not see her, he could hear the relief trembling in her voice. 'Peter! Oh, I am so glad, I could cry. I was frightened to death they had caught you. Are you sure you aren't hurt?'
Not at all,' he replied, `except that I got terribly scared. But where are you? And for that matter, where am I? I want to come to you.'
There was a moment of silence and then Jennie's voice came through the fog, quite tense. `Don't stir, Peter. We're up in the towers of the suspension bridge. Way up high, I think.'
'Up in the tower,' Peter repeated in amazement. `Why, I don't remember anything but just running-yes, for a moment I did seem to be flying…. I say, how exciting. ..'
'Peter. ..'Jennie's voice was a little plaintive now. `Can you forgive me for leaving you that way? I couldn't help it. It's the one time when cats just don't think.' And then before he could reply, she continued: 'It's all my fault-being so upset over that foolish Maltese, with all her talk about Turks and Knights of St. John and Lord Nelson. Of course, she doesn't come from the Island of Malta at all. Trying to pull the wool over my eyes with her grand ways. They just call those short-haired greys Maltese. And then the way she talked about you. But even so, I should have smelled those dogs long before they got close enough to surprise us, and we could have taken steps, except that I haven't been myself these past days at all. Oh, Peter, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've brought to you.'