Free Around the World With Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis

entertaining the cream of Court circles at luncheon today.”
    â€œIf they’re in Court circles,” Auntie Mame said, “why aren’t they out at the Royal Enclosure with the
Court?
Why aren’t Patrick and I? And, for that matter, why aren’t
you
?” Auntie Mame said, and stamped off to her room.
    After that I heard Lady Gravell-Pitt making several surreptitious and desperate-sounding telephone calls. In fact, all through the day, while Auntie Mame spread charm and caviar among the same old free loaders, Hermione was constantly excusing herself to make yet another urgent call.
    Nor were the household tensions eased when Vera came back that evening with her duke, her winnings, and her impressive roster of great names with whom she had lunched alfresco or had tea or just gossiped. Vera was laying it on thick and said “Of cawss, I’m only an actress” three or four times. And when Hermione came into the room, after what must have been her hundredth urgent trip to the telephone, Vera pushed her duke forward and said, “But certainly you two must be aold, aold friends, so there’s no need to introduce you.”
    The duke looked absolutely blank and Hermione looked as though she could have crawled under the rug.
    The duke said, “Er, I—I don’t believe . . .”
    Hermione said, “Of cawss,” with a dismal clack of her upper plate and excused herself once more in favor of the telephone.
    The duke’s title was very recent, Hermione explained later. He was no one, really.
    But that night Lady Gravell-Pitt somehow managed to wangle invitations for Auntie Mame and me to the next Garden Party. She crowed with relief and pride as she raced in, flapping the envelopes aloft. Auntie Mame was delighted to think that at last she was getting somewhere in Court circles.
    â€œThere are only three, of cawss,” Hermione said horridly. “I was so soddy not to have got one for Miss Charles.”
    â€œThet’s quate all raight,” Vera said in her stage accent, “I’ve had mine for days.”
    THE DAY OF THE ROYAL GARDEN PARTY DAWNED unusually hot and humid. The household was in a furor. Maids scuttled up and down the corridors trailing freshly pressed dresses in their wake. Out in front, Ito polished first his buttons and then the Rolls, then the buttons again and once more the Rolls. There was even a little excitement in it for me with the arrival of my slightly used ducal clothes.
    It was only when I tried to put the outfit on that I began to entertain serious doubts as to this particular tailor’s superiority over Rogers Peet. The trousers were much too large and much too short. Held up with braces, as they had to be, they cleared my ankles by a good inch. If I let them down to reach the tops of my shoes, then a dazzling array of shirt front appeared between the trousers and my gray waistcoat, which happened to be so tight that all the buttons strained every time I breathed. The coat was short in the sleeves and narrow through the shoulders, but so large across the stomach that I was almost able to get it around me twice. The tie, however, was perfectly fine. I was still trying to discover a way to stand so that my new finery wouldn’t look quite so grotesque when Auntie Mame called up to me from the garden.
    â€œPatrick, my little love, do come down. We’re just having a snack here before we go. It wouldn’t do to be late.”
    â€œI—I’ll be down soon, Auntie Mame,” I said. “I just can’t seem to get this suit right.”
    â€œNever mind, darling,” she called, “come down and Vera and I will help you.”
    Auntie Mame and Vera and Lady Gravel-Pitt were preening themselves in the hot sunlight. Auntie Mame looked very Gainsborough in her pearls, a sweeping gown of ivory with parasol to match, and on her head a platter of nodding plumes in all the colors of sweetpea. Vera, too, looked