Now the legend above the picture is faded
beyond conjecture; the gun's relation to the title is a matter of
faith; the menaced animal, wearied of the long aim of the hunter, has
resolved itself into a shapeless blot.
The place is known as "Antonio's," as the name, white upon the red-lit
transparency, and gilt upon the windows, attests. There is a promise
in "Antonio"; a justifiable expectancy of savoury things in oil and
pepper and wine, and perhaps an angel's whisper of garlic. But the
rest of the name is "O'Riley." Antonio O'Riley!
The Carabine d'Or is an ignominious ghost of the Rue Chartres. The
cafe where Bienville and Conti dined, where a prince has broken bread,
is become a "family ristaurant."
Its customers are working men and women, almost to a unit.
Occasionally you will see chorus girls from the cheaper theatres,
and men who follow avocations subject to quick vicissitudes; but at
Antonio's--name rich in Bohemian promise, but tame in fulfillment--
manners debonair and gay are toned down to the "family" standard.
Should you light a cigarette, mine host will touch you on the "arrum"
and remind you that the proprieties are menaced. "Antonio" entices
and beguiles from fiery legend without, but "O'Riley" teaches decorum
within.
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