Fix typos

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@@ -87,7 +87,7 @@
 			<p>“Thank you, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Harris,” interrupted Miss Hinkle. “I knew I could depend upon your frankness and honesty.”</p>
 			<p>And then <abbr class="name">C.</abbr> Vincent Vesey drew back one sleeve from his snowy cuff, and the water came down at Lodore.</p>
 			<p>My memory cannot do justice to his masterly tribute to that priceless, God-given treasure⁠—Miss Hinkle’s voice. He raved over it in terms that, if they had been addressed to the morning stars when they sang together, would have made that stellar choir explode in a meteoric shower of flaming self-satisfaction.</p>
-			<p>He marshalled on his white fingertips the grand opera stars of all the continents, from Jenny Lind to Emma Abbott, only to depreciate their endowments. He spoke of larynxes, of chest notes, of phrasing, arpeggios, and other strange paraphernalia of the throaty art. He admitted, as though driven to a corner, that Jenny Lind had a note or two in the high register that Miss Hinkle had not yet acquired⁠—but⁠—”!!!”⁠—that was a mere matter of practice and training.</p>
+			<p>He marshalled on his white fingertips the grand opera stars of all the continents, from Jenny Lind to Emma Abbott, only to depreciate their endowments. He spoke of larynxes, of chest notes, of phrasing, arpeggios, and other strange paraphernalia of the throaty art. He admitted, as though driven to a corner, that Jenny Lind had a note or two in the high register that Miss Hinkle had not yet acquired⁠—but⁠—“!!!”⁠—that was a mere matter of practice and training.</p>
 			<p>And, as a peroration, he predicted⁠—solemnly predicted⁠—a career in vocal art for the “coming star of the Southwest⁠—and one of which grand old Texas may well be proud,” hitherto unsurpassed in the annals of musical history.</p>
 			<p>When we left at ten, Ileen gave each of us her usual warm, cordial handshake, entrancing smile, and invitation to call again. I could not see that one was favored above or below another⁠—but three of us knew⁠—we knew.</p>
 			<p>We knew that frankness and honesty had won, and that the rivals now numbered three instead of four.</p>

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@@ -53,7 +53,7 @@
 			<p>“But the town looked fine from the bay when we sailed in. It was white, with green ruching, and lace ruffles on the skirt when the surf slashed up on the sand. It looked as tropical and <i xml:lang="it">dolce far ultra</i> as the pictures of Lake Ronkonkoma in the brochure of the passenger department of the Long Island Railroad.</p>
 			<p>“We went through the quarantine and customhouse indignities; and then O’Connor leads me to a ’dobe house on a street called ‘The Avenue of the Dolorous Butterflies of the Individual and Collective Saints.’ Ten feet wide it was, and knee-deep in alfalfa and cigar stumps.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Hooligan Alley,’ says I, rechristening it.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Twill be our headquarters,’ says O’Connor. ‘My agent here, Don Fernando Pacheco, secured it for us.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Twill be our headquarters,’ says O’Connor. ‘My agent here, Don Fernando Pacheco, secured it for us.’</p>
 			<p>“So in that house O’Connor and me established the revolutionary centre. In the front room we had ostensible things such as fruit, a guitar, and a table with a conch shell on it. In the back room O’Connor had his desk and a large looking-glass and his sword hid in a roll of straw matting. We slept on hammocks that we hung to hooks in the wall; and took our meals at the Hotel Ingles, a beanery run on the American plan by a German proprietor with Chinese cooking served à la Kansas City lunch counter.</p>
 			<p>“It seems that O’Connor really did have some sort of system planned out beforehand. He wrote plenty of letters; and every day or two some native gent would stroll round to headquarters and be shut up in the back room for half an hour with O’Connor and the interpreter. I noticed that when they went in they were always smoking eight-inch cigars and at peace with the world; but when they came out they would be folding up a ten- or twenty-dollar bill and cursing the government horribly.</p>
 			<p>“One evening after we had been in Guaya⁠—in this town of Smellville-by-the-Sea⁠—about a month, and me and O’Connor were sitting outside the door helping along old tempus fugit with rum and ice and limes, I says to him:</p>
@@ -93,7 +93,7 @@
 			<p>“ ‘No doubt,’ says I. ‘But could you lick six? And suppose they hurled an army of seventeen against you?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Listen,’ says O’Connor, ‘to what will occur. At noon next Tuesday 25,000 patriots will rise up in the towns of the republic. The government will be absolutely unprepared. The public buildings will be taken, the regular army made prisoners, and the new administration set up. In the capital it will not be so easy on account of most of the army being stationed there. They will occupy the president’s palace and the strongly fortified government buildings and stand a siege. But on the very day of the outbreak a body of our troops will begin a march to the capital from every town as soon as the local victory has been won. The thing is so well planned that it is an impossibility for us to fail. I meself will lead the troops from here. The new president will be Señor Espadas, now Minister of Finance in the present cabinet.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘What do you get?’ I asked.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Twill be strange,’ said O’Connor smiling, ‘if I don’t have all the jobs handed to me on a silver salver to pick what I choose. I’ve been the brains of the scheme, and when the fighting opens I guess I won’t be in the rear rank. Who managed it so our troops could get arms smuggled into this country? Didn’t I arrange it with a New York firm before I left there? Our financial agents inform me that 20,000 stands of Winchester rifles have been delivered a month ago at a secret place up coast and distributed among the towns. I tell you, Bowers, the game is already won.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Twill be strange,’ said O’Connor smiling, ‘if I don’t have all the jobs handed to me on a silver salver to pick what I choose. I’ve been the brains of the scheme, and when the fighting opens I guess I won’t be in the rear rank. Who managed it so our troops could get arms smuggled into this country? Didn’t I arrange it with a New York firm before I left there? Our financial agents inform me that 20,000 stands of Winchester rifles have been delivered a month ago at a secret place up coast and distributed among the towns. I tell you, Bowers, the game is already won.’</p>
 			<p>“Well, that kind of talk kind of shook my disbelief in the infallibility of the serious Irish gentleman soldier of fortune. It certainly seemed that the patriotic grafters had gone about the thing in a business way. I looked upon O’Connor with more respect, and began to figure on what kind of uniform I might wear as Secretary of War.</p>
 			<p>“Tuesday, the day set for the revolution, came around according to schedule. O’Connor said that a signal had been agreed upon for the uprising. There was an old cannon on the beach near the national warehouse. That had been secretly loaded and promptly at twelve o’clock was to be fired off. Immediately the revolutionists would seize their concealed arms, attack the comandante’s troops in the cuartel, and capture the customhouse and all government property and supplies.</p>
 			<p>“I was nervous all the morning. And about eleven o’clock O’Connor became infused with the excitement and martial spirit of murder. He geared his father’s sword around him, and walked up and down in the back room like a lion in the Zoo suffering from corns. I smoked a couple of dozen cigars, and decided on yellow stripes down the trouser legs of my uniform.</p>

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@@ -44,7 +44,7 @@
 			<p>“I’m working down here,” said Teddy. He cast side glances about the station as one does who tries to combine politeness with duty.</p>
 			<p>“You didn’t notice on the train,” he asked, “an old lady with gray curls and a poodle, who occupied two seats with her bundles and quarrelled with the conductor, did you?”</p>
 			<p>“I think not,” answered Octavia, reflecting. “And you haven’t, by any chance, noticed a big, gray-mustached man in a blue shirt and six-shooters, with little flakes of merino wool sticking in his hair, have you?”</p>
-			<p>“Lots of ’em,” said Teddy, with symptoms of mental delirium under the strain. Do you happen to know any such individual?”</p>
+			<p>“Lots of ’em,” said Teddy, with symptoms of mental delirium under the strain. “Do you happen to know any such individual?”</p>
 			<p>“No; the description is imaginary. Is your interest in the old lady whom you describe a personal one?”</p>
 			<p>“Never saw her in my life. She’s painted entirely from fancy. She owns the little piece of property where I earn my bread and butter⁠—the <span xml:lang="es">Rancho de las Sombras</span>. I drove up to meet her according to arrangement with her lawyer.”</p>
 			<p>Octavia leaned against the wall of the telegraph office. Was this possible? And didn’t he know?</p>
@@ -78,7 +78,7 @@
 			<p>“Will it furnish bread and tea and jam for another outcast from civilization?”</p>
 			<p>“The spring shearing,” said the manager, “just cleaned up a deficit in last year’s business. Wastefulness and inattention have been the rule heretofore. The autumn clip will leave a small profit over all expenses. Next year there will be jam.”</p>
 			<p>When, about four o’clock in the afternoon, the ponies rounded a gentle, brush-covered hill, and then swooped, like a double cream-coloured cyclone, upon the <span xml:lang="es">Rancho de las Sombras</span>, Octavia gave a little cry of delight. A lordly grove of magnificent live-oaks cast an area of grateful, cool shade, whence the ranch had drawn its name, “<span xml:lang="es">de las Sombras</span>”⁠—of the shadows. The house, of red brick, one story, ran low and long beneath the trees. Through its middle, dividing its six rooms in half, extended a broad, arched passageway, picturesque with flowering cactus and hanging red earthern jars. A “gallery,” low and broad, encircled the building. Vines climbed about it, and the adjacent ground was, for a space, covered with transplanted grass and shrubs. A little lake, long and narrow, glimmered in the sun at the rear. Further away stood the shacks of the Mexican workers, the corrals, wool sheds and shearing pens. To the right lay the low hills, splattered with dark patches of chaparral; to the left the unbounded green prairie blending against the blue heavens.</p>
-			<p>“It’s a home, Teddy,” said Octavia, breathlessly; that’s what it is⁠—it’s a home.”</p>
+			<p>“It’s a home, Teddy,” said Octavia, breathlessly; “that’s what it is⁠—it’s a home.”</p>
 			<p>“Not so bad for a sheep ranch,” admitted Teddy, with excusable pride. “I’ve been tinkering on it at odd times.”</p>
 			<p>A Mexican youth sprang from somewhere in the grass, and took charge of the creams. The mistress and the manager entered the house.</p>
 			<p>“Here’s <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> MacIntyre,” said Teddy, as a placid, neat, elderly lady came out upon the gallery to meet them. “<abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Mac, here’s the boss. Very likely she will be wanting a hunk of ham and a dish of beans after her drive.”</p>

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@@ -40,7 +40,7 @@
 			<p>The subsequent history of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Mice Will Play</i> is the history of all successful writings for the stage. Hart &amp; Cherry cut it, pieced it, remodeled it, performed surgical operations on the dialogue and business, changed the lines, restored ’em, added more, cut ’em out, renamed it, gave it back the old name, rewrote it, substituted a dagger for the pistol, restored the pistol⁠—put the sketch through all the known processes of condensation and improvement.</p>
 			<p>They rehearsed it by the old-fashioned boardinghouse clock in the rarely used parlor until its warning click at five minutes to the hour would occur every time exactly half a second before the click of the unloaded revolver that Helen Grimes used in rehearsing the thrilling climax of the sketch.</p>
 			<p>Yes, that was a thriller and a piece of excellent work. In the act a real .32-caliber revolver was used loaded with a real cartridge. Helen Grimes, who is a Western girl of decidedly Buffalo Billish skill and daring, is tempestuously in love with Frank Desmond, the private secretary and confidential prospective son-in-law of her father, “Arapahoe” Grimes, quarter-million-dollar cattle king, owning a ranch that, judging by the scenery, is in either the Bad Lands or Amagansett, <abbr class="postal eoc">L. I.</abbr> Desmond (in private life <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Bob Hart) wears puttees and Meadow Brook Hunt riding trousers, and gives his address as New York, leaving you to wonder why he comes to the Bad Lands or Amagansett (as the case may be) and at the same time to conjecture mildly why a cattleman should want puttees about his ranch with a secretary in ’em.</p>
-			<p>Well, anyhow, you know as well as I do that we all like that kind of play, whether we admit it or not⁠—something along in between <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Bluebeard, <abbr>Jr.</abbr></i>,” and <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Cymbeline</i> played in the Russian.</p>
+			<p>Well, anyhow, you know as well as I do that we all like that kind of play, whether we admit it or not⁠—something along in between <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Bluebeard, <abbr>Jr.</abbr></i>, and <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Cymbeline</i> played in the Russian.</p>
 			<p>There were only two parts and a half in <i epub:type="se:name.publication.play">Mice Will Play</i>. Hart and Cherry were the two, of course; and the half was a minor part always played by a stage hand, who merely came in once in a Tuxedo coat and a panic to announce that the house was surrounded by Indians, and to turn down the gas fire in the grate by the manager’s orders.</p>
 			<p>There was another girl in the sketch⁠—a Fifth Avenue society swelless⁠—who was visiting the ranch and who had sirened Jack Valentine when he was a wealthy club-man on lower Third Avenue before he lost his money. This girl appeared on the stage only in the photographic state⁠—Jack had her Sarony stuck up on the mantel of the Amagan⁠—of the Bad Lands droring room. Helen was jealous, of course.</p>
 			<p>And now for the thriller. Old “Arapahoe” Grimes dies of angina pectoris one night⁠—so Helen informs us in a stage-ferryboat whisper over the footlights⁠—while only his secretary was present. And that same day he was known to have had $647,000 in cash in his (ranch) library just received for the sale of a drove of beeves in the East (that accounts for the price we pay for steak!). The cash disappears at the same time. Jack Valentine was the only person with the ranchman when he made his (alleged) croak.</p>

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@@ -44,7 +44,7 @@
 			<p>“Not yet, it seems, <i xml:lang="es">Señor el Almirante⁠—poco tiempo!</i>”</p>
 			<p>Outside in the shade of the lime-trees the crew chewed sugar cane or slumbered, well content to serve a country that was contented with so little service.</p>
 			<p>One day in the early summer the revolution predicted by the collector flamed out suddenly. It had long been smouldering. At the first note of alarm the admiral of the navy force and fleet made all sail for a larger port on the coast of a neighbouring republic, where he traded a hastily collected cargo of fruit for its value in cartridges for the five Martini rifles, the only guns that the navy could boast. Then to the telegraph office sped the admiral. Sprawling in his favourite corner, in his fast-decaying uniform, with his prodigious sabre distributed between his red legs, he waited for the long-delayed, but now soon expected, orders.</p>
-			<p>“Not yet, <i xml:lang="es">Señor el Almirante</i>,” the telegraph clerk would call to him⁠—”<i xml:lang="es">poco tiempo!</i>”</p>
+			<p>“Not yet, <i xml:lang="es">Señor el Almirante</i>,” the telegraph clerk would call to him⁠—“<i xml:lang="es">poco tiempo!</i>”</p>
 			<p>At the answer the admiral would plump himself down with a great rattling of scabbard to await the infrequent tick of the little instrument on the table.</p>
 			<p>“They will come,” would be his unshaken reply; “I am the admiral.”</p>
 		</article>

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@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@
 			<p>“ ‘And he bagged one,’ says John Tom, ‘and ’twas not with a gun, and he never had on a velveteen suit of clothes in his life.’ And then I began to catch his smoke.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I know it,’ says I. ‘And I’ll bet you his pictures are on valentines, and fool men are his game, red and white.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘You win on the red,’ says John Tom, calm. ‘Jeff, for how many ponies do you think I could buy <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Conyers?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘Scandalous talk!’ I replies. ‘’Tis not a paleface custom.’ John Tom laughs loud and bites into a cigar. ‘No,’ he answers; ‘’tis the savage equivalent for the dollars of the white man’s marriage settlement. Oh, I know. There’s an eternal wall between the races. If I could do it, Jeff, I’d put a torch to every white college that a redman has ever set foot inside. Why don’t you leave us alone,’ he says, ‘to our own ghost-dances and dog-feasts, and our dingy squaws to cook our grasshopper soup and darn our moccasins?’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘Scandalous talk!’ I replies. ‘ ’Tis not a paleface custom.’ John Tom laughs loud and bites into a cigar. ‘No,’ he answers; ‘ ’tis the savage equivalent for the dollars of the white man’s marriage settlement. Oh, I know. There’s an eternal wall between the races. If I could do it, Jeff, I’d put a torch to every white college that a redman has ever set foot inside. Why don’t you leave us alone,’ he says, ‘to our own ghost-dances and dog-feasts, and our dingy squaws to cook our grasshopper soup and darn our moccasins?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Now, you sure don’t mean disrespect to the perennial blossom entitled education?’ says I, scandalized, ‘because I wear it in the bosom of my own intellectual shirtwaist. I’ve had education,’ says I, ‘and never took any harm from it.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘You lasso us,’ goes on Little Bear, not noticing my prose insertions, ‘and teach us what is beautiful in literature and in life, and how to appreciate what is fine in men and women. What have you done to me?’ says he. ‘You’ve made me a Cherokee Moses. You’ve taught me to hate the wigwams and love the white man’s ways. I can look over into the promised land and see <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Conyers, but my place is⁠—on the reservation.’</p>
 			<p>“Little Bear stands up in his chief’s dress, and laughs again. ‘But, white man Jeff,’ he goes on, ‘the paleface provides a recourse. ’Tis a temporary one, but it gives a respite and the name of it is whiskey.’ And straight off he walks up the path to town again. ‘Now,’ says I in my mind, ‘may the Manitou move him to do only bailable things this night!’ For I perceive that John Tom is about to avail himself of the white man’s solace.</p>

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@@ -15,20 +15,20 @@
 			<p>“When the order come to the flats that all hands must turn out and sleep in the park, according to the instructions of the consulting committee of the City Club and the Murphy Draying, Returfing and Sodding Company, there was a look of a couple of fires and an eviction all over the place.</p>
 			<p>“The tenants began to pack up feather beds, rubber boots, strings of garlic, hot-water bags, portable canoes and scuttles of coal to take along for the sake of comfort. The sidewalk looked like a Russian camp in Oyama’s line of march. There was wailing and lamenting up and downstairs from Danny Geoghegan’s flat on the top floor to the apartments of Missis Goldsteinupski on the first.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘For why,’ says Danny, coming down and raging in his blue yarn socks to the janitor, ‘should I be turned out of me comfortable apartments to lay in the dirty grass like a rabbit? ’Tis like Jerome to stir up trouble wid small matters like this instead of⁠—’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘Whist!’ says Officer Reagan on the sidewalk, rapping with his club. ‘’Tis not Jerome. ’Tis by order of the Polis Commissioner. Turn out every one of yez and hike yerselves to the park.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘Whist!’ says Officer Reagan on the sidewalk, rapping with his club. ‘ ’Tis not Jerome. ’Tis by order of the Polis Commissioner. Turn out every one of yez and hike yerselves to the park.’</p>
 			<p>“Now, ’twas a peaceful and happy home that all of us had in them same Beersheba Flats. The O’Dowds and the Steinowitzes and the Callahans and the Cohens and the Spizzinellis and the McManuses and the Spiegelmayers and the Joneses⁠—all nations of us, we lived like one big family together. And when the hot nights come along we kept a line of children reaching from the front door to Kelly’s on the corner passing along the cans of beer from one to another without the trouble of running after it. And with no more clothing on than is provided for in the statutes, sitting in all the windies, with a cool growler in everyone, and your feet out in the air, and the Rosenstein girls singing on the fire-escape of the sixth floor, and Patsy Rourke’s flute going in the eighth, and the ladies calling each other synonyms out the windies, and now and then a breeze sailing in over Mister Depew’s Central⁠—I tell you the Beersheba Flats was a summer resort that made the Catskills look like a hole in the ground. With his person full of beer and his feet out the windy and his old woman frying pork chops over a charcoal furnace and the childher dancing in cotton slips on the sidewalk around the organ-grinder and the rent paid for a week⁠—what does a man want better on a hot night than that? And then comes this ruling of the polis driving people out o’ their comfortable homes to sleep in parks⁠—’twas for all the world like a ukase of them Russians⁠—’twill be heard from again at next election time.</p>
 			<p>“Well, then, Officer Reagan drives the whole lot of us to the park and turns us in by the nearest gate. ’Tis dark under the trees, and all the children sets up to howling that they want to go home.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘Ye’ll pass the night in this stretch of woods and scenery,’ says Officer Reagan. ‘’Twill be fine and imprisonment for insoolting the Park Commissioner and the Chief of the Weather Bureau if ye refuse. I’m in charge of thirty acres between here and the Agyptian Monument, and I advise ye to give no trouble. ’Tis sleeping on the grass yez all have been condemned to by the authorities. Yez’ll be permitted to leave in the morning, but ye must retoorn be night. Me orders was silent on the subject of bail, but I’ll find out if ’tis required and there’ll be bondsmen at the gate.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘Ye’ll pass the night in this stretch of woods and scenery,’ says Officer Reagan. ‘ ’Twill be fine and imprisonment for insoolting the Park Commissioner and the Chief of the Weather Bureau if ye refuse. I’m in charge of thirty acres between here and the Agyptian Monument, and I advise ye to give no trouble. ’Tis sleeping on the grass yez all have been condemned to by the authorities. Yez’ll be permitted to leave in the morning, but ye must retoorn be night. Me orders was silent on the subject of bail, but I’ll find out if ’tis required and there’ll be bondsmen at the gate.’</p>
 			<p>“There being no lights except along the automobile drives, us 179 tenants of the Beersheba Flats prepared to spend the night as best we could in the raging forest. Them that brought blankets and kindling wood was best off. They got fires started and wrapped the blankets round their heads and laid down, cursing, in the grass. There was nothing to see, nothing to drink, nothing to do. In the dark we had no way of telling friend or foe except by feeling the noses of ’em. I brought along me last winter overcoat, me toothbrush, some quinine pills and the red quilt off the bed in me flat. Three times during the night somebody rolled on me quilt and stuck his knees against the Adam’s apple of me. And three times I judged his character by running me hand over his face, and three times I rose up and kicked the intruder down the hill to the gravelly walk below. And then someone with a flavour of Kelly’s whiskey snuggled up to me, and I found his nose turned up the right way, and I says: ‘Is that you, then, Patsey?’ and he says, ‘It is, Carney. How long do you think it’ll last?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I’m no weather-prophet,’ says I, ‘but if they bring out a strong anti-Tammany ticket next fall it ought to get us home in time to sleep on a bed once or twice before they line us up at the polls.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘A-playing of my flute into the airshaft,’ says Patsey Rourke, ‘and a-perspiring in me own windy to the joyful noise of the passing trains and the smell of liver and onions and a-reading of the latest murder in the smoke of the cooking is well enough for me,’ says he. ‘What is this herding us in grass for, not to mention the crawling things with legs that walk up the trousers of us, and the Jersey snipes that peck at us, masquerading under the name and denomination of mosquitoes. What is it all for Carney, and the rint going on just the same over at the flats?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis the great annual Municipal Free Night Outing Lawn Party,’ says I, ‘given by the polis, Hetty Green and the Drug Trust. During the heated season they hold a week of it in the principal parks. ’Tis a scheme to reach that portion of the people that’s not worth taking up to North Beach for a fish fry.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis the great annual Municipal Free Night Outing Lawn Party,’ says I, ‘given by the polis, Hetty Green and the Drug Trust. During the heated season they hold a week of it in the principal parks. ’Tis a scheme to reach that portion of the people that’s not worth taking up to North Beach for a fish fry.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I can’t sleep on the ground,’ says Patsey, ‘wid any benefit. I have the hay fever and the rheumatism, and me ear is full of ants.’</p>
 			<p>“Well, the night goes on, and the ex-tenants of the Flats groans and stumbles around in the dark, trying to find rest and recreation in the forest. The children is screaming with the coldness, and the janitor makes hot tea for ’em and keeps the fires going with the signboards that point to the Tavern and the Casino. The tenants try to lay down on the grass by families in the dark, but you’re lucky if you can sleep next to a man from the same floor or believing in the same religion. Now and then a Murpby, accidental, rolls over on the grass of a Rosenstein, or a Cohen tries to crawl under the O’Grady bush, and then there’s a feeling of noses and somebody is rolled down the hill to the driveway and stays there. There is some hair-pulling among the womenfolks, and everybody spanks the nearest howling kid to him by the sense of feeling only, regardless of its parentage and ownership. ’Tis hard to keep up the social distinctions in the dark that flourish by daylight in the Beersheba Flats. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Rafferty, that despises the asphalt that a Dago treads on, wakes up in the morning with her feet in the bosom of Antonio Spizzinelli. And Mike O’Dowd, that always threw peddlers downstairs as fast as he came upon ’em, has to unwind old Isaacstein’s whiskers from around his neck, and wake up the whole gang at daylight. But here and there some few got acquainted and overlooked the discomforts of the elements. There was five engagements to be married announced at the flats the next morning.</p>
 			<p>“About midnight I gets up and wrings the dew out of my hair, and goes to the side of the driveway and sits down. At one side of the park I could see the lights in the streets and houses; and I was thinking how happy them folks was who could chase the duck and smoke their pipes at their windows, and keep cool and pleasant like nature intended for ’em to.</p>
 			<p>“Just then an automobile stops by me, and a fine-looking, well-dressed man steps out.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Me man,’ says he, ‘can you tell me why all these people are lying around on the grass in the park? I thought it was against the rules.’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Twas an ordinance,’ says I, ‘just passed by the Polis Department and ratified by the Turf Cutters’ Association, providing that all persons not carrying a license number on their rear axles shall keep in the public parks until further notice. Fortunately, the orders comes this year during a spell of fine weather, and the mortality, except on the borders of the lake and along the automobile drives, will not be any greater than usual.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Twas an ordinance,’ says I, ‘just passed by the Polis Department and ratified by the Turf Cutters’ Association, providing that all persons not carrying a license number on their rear axles shall keep in the public parks until further notice. Fortunately, the orders comes this year during a spell of fine weather, and the mortality, except on the borders of the lake and along the automobile drives, will not be any greater than usual.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Who are these people on the side of the hill?’ asks the man.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Sure,’ says I, ‘none others than the tenants of the Beersheba Flats⁠—a fine home for any man, especially on hot nights. May daylight come soon!’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘They come here be night,’ says he, ‘and breathe in the pure air and the fragrance of the flowers and trees. They do that,’ says he, ‘coming every night from the burning heat of dwellings of brick and stone.’</p>

src/epub/text/the-fourth-in-salvador.xhtml

@@ -58,7 +58,7 @@
 			<p>“There we found the meat gloriously done, and Jerry waiting, anxious. We sat around on the grass, and got hunks of it on our tin plates. Maximilian Jones, always made tenderhearted by drink, cried some because George Washington couldn’t be there to enjoy the day. ‘There was a man I love, Billy,’ he says, weeping on my shoulder. ‘Poor George! To think he’s gone, and missed the fireworks. A little more salt, please, Jerry.’</p>
 			<p>“From what we could hear, General Dingo seemed to be kindly contributing some noise while we feasted. There were guns going off around town, and pretty soon we heard that cannon go ‘<b>boom</b>!’ just as he said it would. And then men began to skim along the edge of the plaza, dodging in among the orange trees and houses. We certainly had things stirred up in Salvador. We felt proud of the occasion and grateful to General Dingo. Sterrett was about to take a bite off a juicy piece of rib when a bullet took it away from his mouth.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Somebody’s celebrating with ball cartridges,’ says he, reaching for another piece. ‘Little overzealous for a nonresident patriot, isn’t it?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘Don’t mind it,’ I says to him. ‘’Twas an accident. They happen, you know, on the Fourth. After one reading of the Declaration of Independence in New York I’ve known the <abbr class="initialism">S.R.O.</abbr> sign to be hung out at all the hospitals and police stations.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘Don’t mind it,’ I says to him. ‘ ’Twas an accident. They happen, you know, on the Fourth. After one reading of the Declaration of Independence in New York I’ve known the <abbr class="initialism">S.R.O.</abbr> sign to be hung out at all the hospitals and police stations.’</p>
 			<p>“But then Jerry gives a howl and jumps up with one hand clapped to the back of his leg where another bullet has acted overzealous. And then comes a quantity of yells, and round a corner and across the plaza gallops General Mary Esperanza Dingo embracing the neck of his horse, with his men running behind him, mostly dropping their guns by way of discharging ballast. And chasing ’em all is a company of feverish little warriors wearing blue trousers and caps.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Assistance, amigos,’ the General shouts, trying to stop his horse. ‘Assistance, in the name of Liberty!’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘That’s the Compañia Azul, the President’s bodyguard,’ says Jones. ‘What a shame! They’ve jumped on poor old Mary just because he was helping us to celebrate. Come on, boys, it’s our Fourth;⁠—do we let that little squad of <abbr class="initialism">A.D.T.</abbr>’s break it up?’</p>

src/epub/text/the-greater-coney.xhtml

@@ -21,7 +21,7 @@
 			<p>“I sat with my back to the parks where they had the moon and the dreams and the steeples corralled, and longed for the old Coney. There wasn’t many people on the beach. Lots of them was feedin’ pennies into the slot machines to see the ‘Interrupted Courtship’ in the movin’ pictures; and a good many was takin’ the sea air in the Canals of Venice and some was breathin’ the smoke of the sea battle by actual warships in a tank filled with real water. A few was down on the sands enjoyin’ the moonlight and the water. And the heart of me was heavy for the new morals of the old island, while the bands behind me played and the sea pounded on the bass drum in front.</p>
 			<p>“And directly I got up and walked along the old pavilion, and there on the other side of, half in the dark, was a slip of a girl sittin’ on the tumble-down timbers, and unless I’m a liar she was cryin’ by herself there, all alone.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Is it trouble you are in, now, Miss,’ says I; ‘and what’s to be done about it?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis none of your business at all, Denny Carnahan,’ says she, sittin’ up straight. And it was the voice of no other than Norah Flynn.</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis none of your business at all, Denny Carnahan,’ says she, sittin’ up straight. And it was the voice of no other than Norah Flynn.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Then it’s not,’ says I, ‘and we’re after having a pleasant evening, Miss Flynn. Have ye seen the sights of this new Coney Island, then? I presume ye have come here for that purpose,’ says I.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I have,’ says she. ‘Me mother and Uncle Tim they are waiting beyond. ’Tis an elegant evening I’ve had. I’ve seen all the attractions that be.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Right ye are,’ says I to Norah; and I don’t know when I’ve been that amused. After disportin’ meself among the most laughable moral improvements of the revised shell games I took meself to the shore for the benefit of the cool air. ‘And did ye observe the Durbar, Miss Flynn?’</p>
@@ -33,10 +33,10 @@
 			<p>“ ‘Did you see Venice?’ says I.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘We did,’ says she. ‘She was a beauty. She was all dressed in red, she was, with⁠—’</p>
 			<p>“I listened no more to Norah Flynn. I stepped up and I gathered her in my arms.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis a storyteller ye are, Norah Flynn’, says I. ‘Ye’ve seen no more of the greater Coney Island than I have meself. Come, now, tell the truth⁠—ye came to sit by the old pavilion by the waves where you sat last summer and made Dennis Carnahan a happy man. Speak up, and tell the truth.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis a storyteller ye are, Norah Flynn’, says I. ‘Ye’ve seen no more of the greater Coney Island than I have meself. Come, now, tell the truth⁠—ye came to sit by the old pavilion by the waves where you sat last summer and made Dennis Carnahan a happy man. Speak up, and tell the truth.’</p>
 			<p>“Norah stuck her nose against me vest.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I despise it, Denny,’ she says, half cryin’. ‘Mother and Uncle Tim went to see the shows, but I came down here to think of you. I couldn’t bear the lights and the crowd. Are you forgivin’ me, Denny, for the words we had?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Twas me fault,’ says I. ‘I came here for the same reason meself. Look at the lights, Norah,’ I says, turning my back to the sea⁠—‘ain’t they pretty?’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Twas me fault,’ says I. ‘I came here for the same reason meself. Look at the lights, Norah,’ I says, turning my back to the sea⁠—‘ain’t they pretty?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘They are,’ says Norah, with her eyes shinin’; ‘and do ye hear the bands playin’? Oh, Denny, I think I’d like to see it all.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘The old Coney is gone, darlin’,’ I says to her. ‘Everything moves. When a man’s glad it’s not scenes of sadness he wants. ’Tis a greater Coney we have here, but we couldn’t see it till we got in the humour for it. Next Sunday, Norah darlin’, we’ll see the new place from end to end.”</p>
 		</article>

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@@ -38,7 +38,7 @@
 			<p>“If you mean that the opposite way,” I answered, “as they say women do, I’ll see what I can do. The papers are full of this diplomatic row in Russia. My people know some big people in Washington who are right next to the army people, and I could get an artillery commission and⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“I’m not that way,” interrupted Chloe. “I mean what I say. It isn’t the big things that are done in the world, Tommy, that count with a woman. When the knights were riding abroad in their armor to slay dragons, many a stay-at-home page won a lonesome lady’s hand by being on the spot to pick up her glove and be quick with her cloak when the wind blew. The man I am to like best, whoever he shall be, must show his love in little ways. He must never forget, after hearing it once, that I do not like to have anyone walk at my left side; that I detest bright-colored neckties; that I prefer to sit with my back to a light; that I like candied violets; that I must not be talked to when I am looking at the moonlight shining on water, and that I very, very often long for dates stuffed with English walnuts.”</p>
 			<p>“Frivolity,” I said, with a frown. “Any well-trained servant would be equal to such details.”</p>
-			<p>“And he must remember,” went on Chloe, to remind me of what I want when I do not know, myself, what I want.”</p>
+			<p>“And he must remember,” went on Chloe, “to remind me of what I want when I do not know, myself, what I want.”</p>
 			<p>“You’re rising in the scale,” I said. “What you seem to need is a first-class clairvoyant.”</p>
 			<p>“And if I say that I am dying to hear a Beethoven sonata, and stamp my foot when I say it, he must know by that that what my soul craves is salted almonds; and he will have them ready in his pocket.”</p>
 			<p>“Now,” said I, “I am at a loss. I do not know whether your soul’s affinity is to be an impresario or a fancy grocer.”</p>

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@@ -74,7 +74,7 @@
 			<p>“The next day Mellinger takes me and Henry to one side, and begins to shed tens and twenties.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I want to buy that phonograph,’ says he. ‘I liked that last tune it played at the soirée.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘This is more money than the machine is worth,’ says I.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis government expense money,’ says Mellinger. ‘The government pays for it, and it’s getting the tune-grinder cheap.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis government expense money,’ says Mellinger. ‘The government pays for it, and it’s getting the tune-grinder cheap.’</p>
 			<p>“Me and Henry knew that pretty well. We knew that it had saved Homer <abbr class="name">P.</abbr> Mellinger’s graft when he was on the point of losing it; but we never let him know we knew it.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Now you boys better slide off further down the coast for a while,’ says Mellinger, ‘till I get the screws put on these fellows here. If you don’t they’ll give you trouble. And if you ever happen to see Billy Renfrew again before I do, tell him I’m coming back to New York as soon as I can make a stake⁠—honest.’</p>
 			<p>“Me and Henry laid low until the day the steamer came back. When we saw the captain’s boat on the beach we went down and stood in the edge of the water. The captain grinned when he saw us.</p>

src/epub/text/the-rose-of-dixie.xhtml

@@ -35,7 +35,7 @@
 			<p>“If I understand your figurative language,” answered Colonel Telfair, “it is this: the article you refer to was handed to me by the owners of the magazine with instructions to publish it. The literary quality of it did not appeal to me. But, in a measure, I feel impelled to conform, in certain matters, to the wishes of the gentlemen who are interested in the financial side of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">The Rose</i>.”</p>
 			<p>“I see,” said Thacker. “Next we have two pages of selections from ‘Lalla Rookh,’ by Thomas Moore. Now, what Federal prison did Moore escape from, or what’s the name of the <abbr class="initialism">F.F.V.</abbr> family that he carries as a handicap?”</p>
 			<p>“Moore was an Irish poet who died in 1852,” said Colonel Telfair, pityingly. “He is a classic. I have been thinking of reprinting his translation of Anacreon serially in the magazine.”</p>
-			<p>“Look out for the copyright laws,” said Thacker, flippantly. Who’s Bessie Belleclair, who contributes the essay on the newly completed waterworks plant in Milledgeville?”</p>
+			<p>“Look out for the copyright laws,” said Thacker, flippantly. “Who’s Bessie Belleclair, who contributes the essay on the newly completed waterworks plant in Milledgeville?”</p>
 			<p>“The name, sir,” said Colonel Telfair, “is the <span xml:lang="fr">nom de guerre</span> of Miss Elvira Simpkins. I have not the honor of knowing the lady; but her contribution was sent to us by Congressman Brower, of her native state. Congressman Brower’s mother was related to the Polks of Tennessee.</p>
 			<p>“Now, see here, Colonel,” said Thacker, throwing down the magazine, “this won’t do. You can’t successfully run a magazine for one particular section of the country. You’ve got to make a universal appeal. Look how the Northern publications have catered to the South and encouraged the Southern writers. And you’ve got to go far and wide for your contributors. You’ve got to buy stuff according to its quality without any regard to the pedigree of the author. Now, I’ll bet a quart of ink that this Southern parlor organ you’ve been running has never played a note that originated above Mason &amp; Hamlin’s line. Am I right?”</p>
 			<p>“I have carefully and conscientiously rejected all contributions from that section of the country⁠—if I understand your figurative language aright,” replied the colonel.</p>
@@ -96,7 +96,7 @@
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>“That’s the stuff,” continued Thacker. “What do you think of that?”</p>
 			<p>“I am not unfamiliar with the works of <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Riley,” said the colonel, deliberately. “I believe he lives in Indiana. For the last ten years I have been somewhat of a literary recluse, and am familiar with nearly all the books in the Cedar Heights library. I am also of the opinion that a magazine should contain a certain amount of poetry. Many of the sweetest singers of the South have already contributed to the pages of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">The Rose of Dixie</i>. I, myself, have thought of translating from the original for publication in its pages the works of the great Italian poet Tasso. Have you ever drunk from the fountain of this immortal poet’s lines, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Thacker?”</p>
-			<p>“Not even a demi-Tasso,” said Thacker. Now, let’s come to the point, Colonel Telfair. I’ve already invested some money in this as a flyer. That bunch of manuscripts cost me $4,000. My object was to try a number of them in the next issue⁠—I believe you make up less than a month ahead⁠—and see what effect it has on the circulation. I believe that by printing the best stuff we can get in the North, South, East, or West we can make the magazine go. You have there the letter from the owning company asking you to cooperate with me in the plan. Let’s chuck out some of this slush that you’ve been publishing just because the writers are related to the Skoopdoodles of Skoopdoodle County. Are you with me?”</p>
+			<p>“Not even a demi-Tasso,” said Thacker. “Now, let’s come to the point, Colonel Telfair. I’ve already invested some money in this as a flyer. That bunch of manuscripts cost me $4,000. My object was to try a number of them in the next issue⁠—I believe you make up less than a month ahead⁠—and see what effect it has on the circulation. I believe that by printing the best stuff we can get in the North, South, East, or West we can make the magazine go. You have there the letter from the owning company asking you to cooperate with me in the plan. Let’s chuck out some of this slush that you’ve been publishing just because the writers are related to the Skoopdoodles of Skoopdoodle County. Are you with me?”</p>
 			<p>“As long as I continue to be the editor of <i epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">The Rose</i>,” said Colonel Telfair, with dignity, “I shall be its editor. But I desire also to conform to the wishes of its owners if I can do so conscientiously.”</p>
 			<p>“That’s the talk,” said Thacker, briskly. “Now, how much of this stuff I’ve brought can we get into the January number? We want to begin right away.”</p>
 			<p>“There is yet space in the January number,” said the editor, “for about eight thousand words, roughly estimated.”</p>

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@@ -53,9 +53,9 @@
 			<p>“One old man named Halloran⁠—a man of Hibernian entitlements and discretions, explained it to me. He had been workin’ on the road a year. Most of them died in less than six months. He was dried up to gristle and bone, and shook with chills every third night.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘When you first come,’ says he, ‘ye think ye’ll leave right away. But they hold out your first month’s pay for your passage over, and by that time the tropics has its grip on ye. Ye’re surrounded by a ragin’ forest full of disreputable beasts⁠—lions and baboons and anacondas⁠—waitin’ to devour ye. The sun strikes ye hard, and melts the marrow in your bones. Ye get similar to the lettuce-eaters the poetry-book speaks about. Ye forget the elevated sintiments of life, such as patriotism, revenge, disturbances of the peace and the dacint love of a clane shirt. Ye do your work, and ye swallow the kerosene ile and rubber pipestems dished up to ye by the Dago cook for food. Ye light your pipeful, and say to yoursilf, “Nixt week I’ll break away,” and ye go to sleep and call yersilf a liar, for ye know ye’ll never do it.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Who is this general man,’ asks I, ‘that calls himself De Vega?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis the man,’ says Halloran, ‘who is tryin’ to complete the finishin’ of the railroad. ’Twas the project of a private corporation, but it busted, and then the government took it up. De Vegy is a big politician, and wants to be prisident. The people want the railroad completed, as they’re taxed mighty on account of it. The De Vegy man is pushin’ it along as a campaign move.’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Tis not my way,’ says I, ‘to make threats against any man, but there’s an account to be settled between the railroad man and James O’Dowd Clancy.’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘’Twas that way I thought, mesilf, at first,’ Halloran says, with a big sigh, ‘until I got to be a lettuce-eater. The fault’s wid these tropics. They rejuices a man’s system. ’Tis a land, as the poet says, “Where it always seems to be after dinner.” I does me work and smokes me pipe and sleeps. There’s little else in life, anyway. Ye’ll get that way yersilf, mighty soon. Don’t be harbourin’ any sintiments at all, Clancy.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis the man,’ says Halloran, ‘who is tryin’ to complete the finishin’ of the railroad. ’Twas the project of a private corporation, but it busted, and then the government took it up. De Vegy is a big politician, and wants to be prisident. The people want the railroad completed, as they’re taxed mighty on account of it. The De Vegy man is pushin’ it along as a campaign move.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Tis not my way,’ says I, ‘to make threats against any man, but there’s an account to be settled between the railroad man and James O’Dowd Clancy.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘ ’Twas that way I thought, mesilf, at first,’ Halloran says, with a big sigh, ‘until I got to be a lettuce-eater. The fault’s wid these tropics. They rejuices a man’s system. ’Tis a land, as the poet says, “Where it always seems to be after dinner.” I does me work and smokes me pipe and sleeps. There’s little else in life, anyway. Ye’ll get that way yersilf, mighty soon. Don’t be harbourin’ any sintiments at all, Clancy.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘I can’t help it,’ says I; ‘I’m full of ’em. I enlisted in the revolutionary army of this dark country in good faith to fight for its liberty, honours and silver candlesticks; instead of which I am set to amputatin’ its scenery and grubbin’ its roots. ’Tis the general man will have to pay for it.’</p>
 			<p>“Two months I worked on that railroad before I found a chance to get away. One day a gang of us was sent back to the end of the completed line to fetch some picks that had been sent down to Port Barrios to be sharpened. They were brought on a handcar, and I noticed, when I started away, that the car was left there on the track.</p>
 			<p>“That night, about twelve, I woke up Halloran and told him my scheme.</p>
@@ -68,16 +68,16 @@
 			<p>“ ‘That steamer the <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Conchita</i>,’ said the brown man, affable and easy, rollin’ a cigarette. ‘Him come from New Orleans for load banana. Him got load last night. I think him sail in one, two hour. Verree nice day we shall be goin’ have. You hear some talkee ’bout big battle, maybe so? You think catchee General De Vega, señor? Yes? No?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘How’s that, Sambo?’ says I. ‘Big battle? What battle? Who wants catchee General De Vega? I’ve been up at my old gold mines in the interior for a couple of months, and haven’t heard any news.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Oh,’ says the nigger-man, proud to speak the English, ‘verree great revolution in Guatemala one week ago. General De Vega, him try be president. Him raise armee⁠—one⁠—five⁠—ten thousand mans for fight at the government. Those one government send five⁠—forty⁠—hundred thousand soldier to suppress revolution. They fight big battle yesterday at Lomagrande⁠—that about nineteen or fifty mile in the mountain. That government soldier wheep General De Vega⁠—oh, most bad. Five hundred⁠—nine hundred⁠—two thousand of his mans is kill. That revolution is smash suppress⁠—bust⁠—very quick. General De Vega, him r-r-run away fast on one big mule. Yes, <i xml:lang="es">carrambos!</i> The general, him r-r-run away, and his armee is kill. That government soldier, they try find General De Vega verree much. They want catchee him for shoot. You think they catchee that general, señor?’</p>
-			<p>“ ‘Saints grant it!’ says I. ”Twould be the judgment of Providence for settin’ the warlike talent of a Clancy to gradin’ the tropics with a pick and shovel. But ’tis not so much a question of insurrections now, me little man, as ’tis of the hired-man problem. ’Tis anxious I am to resign a situation of responsibility and trust with the white wings department of your great and degraded country. Row me in your little boat out to that steamer, and I’ll give ye five dollars⁠—sinker pacers⁠—sinker pacers,’ says I, reducin’ the offer to the language and denomination of the tropic dialects.</p>
+			<p>“ ‘Saints grant it!’ says I. “ ’Twould be the judgment of Providence for settin’ the warlike talent of a Clancy to gradin’ the tropics with a pick and shovel. But ’tis not so much a question of insurrections now, me little man, as ’tis of the hired-man problem. ’Tis anxious I am to resign a situation of responsibility and trust with the white wings department of your great and degraded country. Row me in your little boat out to that steamer, and I’ll give ye five dollars⁠—sinker pacers⁠—sinker pacers,’ says I, reducin’ the offer to the language and denomination of the tropic dialects.</p>
 			<p>“ ’<i xml:lang="es">Cinco pesos</i>,’ repeats the little man. ‘Five dollee, you give?’</p>
 			<p>“ ’Twas not such a bad little man. He had hesitations at first, sayin’ that passengers leavin’ the country had to have papers and passports, but at last he took me out alongside the steamer.</p>
 			<p>“Day was just breakin’ as we struck her, and there wasn’t a soul to be seen on board. The water was very still, and the nigger-man gave me a lift from the boat, and I climbed onto the steamer where her side was sliced to the deck for loadin’ fruit. The hatches was open, and I looked down and saw the cargo of bananas that filled the hold to within six feet of the top. I thinks to myself, ‘Clancy, you better go as a stowaway. It’s safer. The steamer men might hand you back to the employment bureau. The tropic’ll get you, Clancy, if you don’t watch out.’</p>
 			<p>“So I jumps down easy among the bananas, and digs out a hole to hide in among the bunches. In an hour or so I could hear the engines goin’, and feel the steamer rockin’, and I knew we were off to sea. They left the hatches open for ventilation, and pretty soon it was light enough in the hold to see fairly well. I got to feelin’ a bit hungry, and thought I’d have a light fruit lunch, by way of refreshment. I creeped out of the hole I’d made and stood up straight. Just then I saw another man crawl up about ten feet away and reach out and skin a banana and stuff it into his mouth. ’Twas a dirty man, black-faced and ragged and disgraceful of aspect. Yes, the man was a ringer for the pictures of the fat Weary Willie in the funny papers. I looked again, and saw it was my general man⁠—De Vega, the great revolutionist, mule-rider and pickaxe importer. When he saw me the general hesitated with his mouth filled with banana and his eyes the size of coconuts.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Hist!’ I says. ‘Not a word, or they’ll put us off and make us walk. “Veev la Liberty!” ’ I adds, copperin’ the sentiment by shovin’ a banana into the source of it. I was certain the general wouldn’t recognize me. The nefarious work of the tropics had left me lookin’ different. There was half an inch of roan whiskers coverin’ me face, and me costume was a pair of blue overalls and a red shirt.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘How you come in the ship, señor?’ asked the general as soon as he could speak.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘By the back door⁠—whist!’ says I. ‘’Twas a glorious blow for liberty we struck,’ I continues; ‘but we was overpowered by numbers. Let us accept our defeat like brave men and eat another banana.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘By the back door⁠—whist!’ says I. ‘ ’Twas a glorious blow for liberty we struck,’ I continues; ‘but we was overpowered by numbers. Let us accept our defeat like brave men and eat another banana.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Were you in the cause of liberty fightin’, señor?’ says the general, sheddin’ tears on the cargo.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘To the last,’ says I. ‘’Twas I led the last desperate charge against the minions of the tyrant. But it made them mad, and we was forced to retreat. ’Twas I, general, procured the mule upon which you escaped. Could you give that ripe bunch a little boost this way, general? It’s a bit out of my reach. Thanks.’</p>
+			<p>“ ‘To the last,’ says I. ‘ ’Twas I led the last desperate charge against the minions of the tyrant. But it made them mad, and we was forced to retreat. ’Twas I, general, procured the mule upon which you escaped. Could you give that ripe bunch a little boost this way, general? It’s a bit out of my reach. Thanks.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Say you so, brave patriot?’ said the general, again weepin’. ‘Ah, <i xml:lang="es">Dios!</i> And I have not the means to reward your devotion. Barely did I my life bring away. <i xml:lang="es">Carrambos!</i> what a devil’s animal was that mule, señor! Like ships in one storm was I dashed about. The skin on myself was ripped away with the thorns and vines. Upon the bark of a hundred trees did that beast of the infernal bump, and cause outrage to the legs of mine. In the night to Port Barrios I came. I dispossess myself of that mountain of mule and hasten along the water shore. I find a little boat to be tied. I launch myself and row to the steamer. I cannot see any mans on board, so I climbed one rope which hang at the side. I then myself hide in the bananas. Surely, I say, if the ship captains view me, they shall throw me again to those Guatemala. Those things are not good. Guatemala will shoot General De Vega. Therefore, I am hide and remain silent. Life itself is glorious. Liberty, it is pretty good; but so good as life I do not think.’</p>
 			<p>“Three days, as I said, was the trip to New Orleans. The general man and me got to be cronies of the deepest dye. Bananas we ate until they were distasteful to the sight and an eyesore to the palate, but to bananas alone was the bill of fare reduced. At night I crawls out, careful, on the lower deck, and gets a bucket of fresh water.</p>
 			<p>“That General De Vega was a man inhabited by an engorgement of words and sentences. He added to the monotony of the voyage by divestin’ himself of conversation. He believed I was a revolutionist of his own party, there bein’, as he told me, a good many Americans and other foreigners in its ranks. ’Twas a braggart and a conceited little gabbler it was, though he considered himself a hero. ’Twas on himself he wasted all his regrets at the failin’ of his plot. Not a word did the little balloon have to say about the other misbehavin’ idiots that had been shot, or run themselves to death in his revolution.</p>

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@@ -41,7 +41,7 @@
 			<p>“Now I reckon you kin be goin’ along,” said the robber.</p>
 			<p>The Justice lingered not on his way.</p>
 			<p>The next day came the little red bull, drawing the cart to the office door. Justice Benaja Widdup had his shoes on, for he was expecting the visit. In his presence Ransie Bilbro handed to his wife a five-dollar bill. The official’s eye sharply viewed it. It seemed to curl up as though it had been rolled and inserted into the end of a gun-barrel. But the Justice refrained from comment. It is true that other bills might be inclined to curl. He handed each one a decree of divorce. Each stood awkwardly silent, slowly folding the guarantee of freedom. The woman cast a shy glance full of constraint at Ransie.</p>
-			<p>“I reckon you’ll be goin’ back up to the cabin,” she said, along ’ith the bull-cart. There’s bread in the tin box settin’ on the shelf. I put the bacon in the b’ilin’-pot to keep the hounds from gittin’ it. Don’t forget to wind the clock tonight.”</p>
+			<p>“I reckon you’ll be goin’ back up to the cabin,” she said, “along ’ith the bull-cart. There’s bread in the tin box settin’ on the shelf. I put the bacon in the b’ilin’-pot to keep the hounds from gittin’ it. Don’t forget to wind the clock tonight.”</p>
 			<p>“You air a-goin’ to your brother Ed’s?” asked Ransie, with fine unconcern.</p>
 			<p>“I was ’lowin’ to get along up thar afore night. I ain’t sayin’ as they’ll pester theyselves any to make me welcome, but I hain’t nowhar else fur to go. It’s a right smart ways, and I reckon I better be goin’. I’ll be a-sayin’ goodbye, Ranse⁠—that is, if you keer fur to say so.”</p>
 			<p>“I don’t know as anybody’s a hound dog,” said Ransie, in a martyr’s voice, “fur to not want to say goodbye⁠—‘less you air so anxious to git away that you don’t want me to say it.”</p>

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@@ -72,7 +72,7 @@
 			<p>Just as the moon rose on Thursday evening the hermit was seized by the world-madness.</p>
 			<p>Up from the inn, fainter than the horns of elf-land, came now and then a few bars of music played by the casino band. The Hudson was broadened by the night into an illimitable sea⁠—those lights, dimly seen on its opposite shore, were not beacons for prosaic trolley-lines, but low-set stars millions of miles away. The waters in front of the inn were gay with fireflies⁠—or were they motorboats, smelling of gasoline and oil? Once the hermit had known these things and had sported with Amaryllis in the shade of the red-and-white-striped awnings. But for ten years he had turned a heedless ear to these far-off echoes of a frivolous world. But tonight there was something wrong.</p>
 			<p>The casino band was playing a waltz⁠—a waltz. What a fool he had been to tear deliberately ten years of his life from the calendar of existence for one who had given him up for the false joys that wealth⁠—“<em>tum</em> ti <em>tum</em> ti <em>tum</em> ti”⁠—how did that waltz go? But those years had not been sacrificed⁠—had they not brought him the star and pearl of all the world, the youngest and beautifulest of⁠—</p>
-			<p>“But do <em>not</em> come on Thursday evening,” she had insisted. Perhaps by now she would be moving slowly and gracefully to the strains of that waltz, held closely by West-Pointers or city commuters, while he, who had read in her eyes things that had recompensed him for ten lost years of life, moped like some wild animal in its mountain den. Why should⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“But do <em>not</em> come on Thursday evening,” she had insisted. Perhaps by now she would be moving slowly and gracefully to the strains of that waltz, held closely by West-Pointers or city commuters, while he, who had read in her eyes things that had recompensed him for ten lost years of life, moped like some wild animal in its mountain den. Why should⁠—</p>
 			<p>“Damn it,” said the hermit, suddenly, “I’ll do it!”</p>
 			<p>He threw down his Marcus Aurelius and threw off his gunnysack toga. He dragged a dust-covered trunk from a corner of the cave, and with difficulty wrenched open its lid.</p>
 			<p>Candles he had in plenty, and the cave was soon aglow. Clothes⁠—ten years old in cut⁠—scissors, razors, hats, shoes, all his discarded attire and belongings, were dragged ruthlessly from their renunciatory rest and strewn about in painful disorder.</p>

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@@ -37,7 +37,7 @@
 			<p>“Ah,” said Tommy, wrinkling his nose, “you got that answer in the wrong place. You want to tell your hard-luck story before you pull out the child stop.”</p>
 			<p>“Oh, yes,” said the burglar, “I forgot. Well, once I lived in Milwaukee, and⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Take the silver,” said Tommy, rising from his chair.</p>
-			<p>“Hold on,” said the burglar. “But I moved away.” I could find no other employment. For a while I managed to support my wife and child by passing confederate money; but, alas! I was forced to give that up because it did not belong to the union. I became desperate and a burglar.”</p>
+			<p>“Hold on,” said the burglar. “But I moved away. I could find no other employment. For a while I managed to support my wife and child by passing confederate money; but, alas! I was forced to give that up because it did not belong to the union. I became desperate and a burglar.”</p>
 			<p>“Have you ever fallen into the hands of the police?” asked Tommy.</p>
 			<p>“I said ‘burglar,’ not ‘beggar,’ ” answered the cracksman.</p>
 			<p>“After you finish your lunch,” said Tommy, “and experience the usual change of heart, how shall we wind up the story?”</p>