Around the World With Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis Read Free Book Online Page A

out onto the runway in front of Auntie Mame. “Look out, Auntie Mame!” I called.
    It was too late.
    The shooting stick caught Auntie Mame around the ankle. She paused. She faltered. She swayed. And then she plummeted down into the first row, dragging the wolfhounds with her, snarling and yelping at the ends of their leashes as her mask flew into the air. I followed, having been too stunned by the whole thing to let go of her train. In a second we were all struggling and thrashing there in the first row, Auntie Mame, Sascha, Jascha, Vanya, Pavel, Boris, Morris, and I in a hopeless tangle of dog hair and monkey fur. I heard Auntie Mame cry, “My God! It’s
Dwight Babcock
!” Then she fainted.
    That seemed like a splendid idea, so I pretended to faint, too. The crowd did the rest, for the French are fiercely loyal to their stars. With cries of “
Cochon
!” “
Brigand
!” “
Voleur
!” they fell upon Mr. Babcock and dragged him bodily from the theater. Opening one eye, I saw him being buffeted and pummeled all the way up the aisle. I hated Mr. Babcock like poison, but I didn’t like to think of his being lynched.
    BACK AT THE HOTEL VERA POLISHED OFF A TUMbler of cognac, yawned, and said she thought she’d turn in. It had, Vera allowed, been one hell of a day.
    â€œJust a moment, Vera,” Auntie Mame said, rubbing her bruised thigh, “there is a little favor I would like to have you do for me.”
    â€œWell, not tonight, de-ah,” Vera said. “Openings take so much out of a star.”
    â€œSit down, Vera,” Auntie Mame said. “Before any of us goes to bed we are going to find out just which jail Mr. Babcock is in and then you and I are going to see him.”
    â€œAre you out of your mind, dulling?” Vera asked haughtily. “Just give me one good reason why I, a Great Star, should go to see some old masher who is, after all, your problem and not mine.”
    â€œI can give you an excellent reason, Vera,” Auntie Mame said. “It is this: Mr. Babcock may or may not know that it was
I
who went on for
you
tonight. He can still take Patrick from me. I want you to go to him and assure him that it was you he pulled down into his nasty lap this evening.”
    â€œAnd if I refuse?” Vera asked haughtily, but not with her old confidence.
    â€œIf you refuse, Vera,” Auntie Mame said calmly, “then Mr. Babcock will not be the
only
one to know just who was the Great Star tonight. I’ll talk, Vera. I’ll talk plenty. I’ll talk to Time, Life, Paris Soir, Reuters, A.P., U.P., I.N.S.—I’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen and
you’ll
be not only out of work, but also the laughingstock of . . .”
    â€œThat’s
blackmail
!”
    â€œI prefer to call it
quid pro quo
—a Latin term meaning that I did a big favor for you and now you’re coming around to the lockup with me, Vera.
Or else!
”
    HOUSED IN A SETTING NOT UNLIKE THE DUNGEON portrayed in the Folies-Bergère, Mr. Babcock was a piteous sight. He had been badly beaten up, his clothes all but torn off his back. He hurried eagerly to the wicket, but he recoiled when he found that his visitor was Auntie Mame, demure in black organdy without any pizazz whatever.
    â€œOh, it’s you, you Jezebel,” Mr. Babcock moaned.
    â€œJezebel indeed, Mr. Babcock,” Auntie Mame said. “I have come on a mission of mercy after prevailing upon my dear friend Vera Charles to forgive you for your shocking lapse of this evening. And speaking of Miss Charles, Mr. Babcock,” she added cattily, “I’d always understood that it was
Mrs.
Babcock who had the great crush on Vera. Not you.”
    â€œYou know damned well that it was you up there on that stage tonight cavorting around without enough on to . . . You and that delinquent orphan brat of yours.” He seemed a bit uncertain. Woozy, you might say.
    â€œHe’s