They seem proud of the grim
tufts of hair that, like the moss-grown clumps upon an old oak,
spread over their faces; and they move about in the grotesque crowd,
making their physiognomies increase its piquancy.
The saloon is one of those places at the south where great men,
small men, men of different spheres and occupations, men in
prominently defined positions, men in doubtful calls of life, and
men most disreputably employed, most do congregate. At one end of
the saloon is a large oyster counter, behind which stand two
coloured men, with sauces, savories, and other mixtures at hand,
ready to serve customers who prefer the delicacy in its raw state.
Men are partaking without noting numbers. Mr. O'Brodereque has boys
serving who take very good care of the numbers. Extending along one
side of the saloon is an elaborately carved mahogany counter, with
panels of French white and gilt mouldings. This is surmounted with a
marble slab, upon which stand well-filled decanters, vases, and
salvers. Behind this counter, genteelly-dressed and polite
attendants are serving customers who stand along its side in a line,
treating in true southern style. The calling for drinks is a problem
for nice ears to solve, so varied are the sounds, so strange the
names: style, quantity, and mixture seemed without limit, set on in
various colours to flow and flood the spirits of the jovial. On the
opposite side of the saloon are rows of seats and arm-chairs,
interspersed with small tables, from which the beverage can be
imbibed more at ease.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286