[Editorial] down stairs -> downstairs

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@@ -21,7 +21,7 @@
 			<p>“Fine,” said Jimmy. “Got my key?”</p>
 			<p>He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on the floor was still Ben Price’s collar-button that had been torn from that eminent detective’s shirt-band when they had overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.</p>
 			<p>Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suitcase. He opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar’s tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at ⸻, a place where they make such things for the profession.</p>
-			<p>In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the café. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suitcase in his hand.</p>
+			<p>In half an hour Jimmy went downstairs and through the café. He was now dressed in tasteful and well-fitting clothes, and carried his dusted and cleaned suitcase in his hand.</p>
 			<p>“Got anything on?” asked Mike Dolan, genially.</p>
 			<p>“Me?” said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. “I don’t understand. I’m representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company.”</p>
 			<p>This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched “hard” drinks.</p>

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@@ -35,7 +35,7 @@
 			<p>“I discharged the old force, and after an hour’s course of instruction I turned my new staff loose upon their duties. Most of them had graduated with high honors at college and were of wealthy families, who could afford to pay well for the splendid advantage of entering them in Binkley’s Practical School of Journalism.</p>
 			<p>“When the staff dispersed, eager and anxious, to their several duties, I leaned back in my revolving chair with a smile of satisfaction. Here was an income of $1,400 per month coming from and not paid to my staff, besides the $3,000 yearly profit from the paper. Oh, it was a good thing.</p>
 			<p>“Of course, I expected a little crudeness and stiffness about the work of my staff at first, but I calculated that they would err on the side of fine writing rather than otherwise. I lit a cigar and strolled through the editorial rooms. The leader writer was at his desk working away, his high, intellectual forehead and broadcloth clothes presenting a fine appearance. The literary editor was consulting an encyclopedia with a knitted brow, and the dramatic critic was pasting a picture of Shakespeare above his desk. The city force were out news gathering.</p>
-			<p>“I began to feel sorry for people who were unable to think up such a fine scheme as I had. Everything was working as smooth as you please. I went down stairs and, rendered reckless by success, I hunted up an old friend and confided to him my wonderful scheme. He was impressed, and we hied ourselves to a caravansary and opened bottle after bottle in honor of the idea.</p>
+			<p>“I began to feel sorry for people who were unable to think up such a fine scheme as I had. Everything was working as smooth as you please. I went downstairs and, rendered reckless by success, I hunted up an old friend and confided to him my wonderful scheme. He was impressed, and we hied ourselves to a caravansary and opened bottle after bottle in honor of the idea.</p>
 			<p>“When I returned to the office, the entire staff was there with their day’s work turned in. The truth is I was so exhilarated by what I had taken that I hardly knew what I was reading when I looked over their copy, but with a mistaken confidence in the ability of my scholars, I let the stuff all go on the file, and shortly afterward the foreman carried it away. I instructed the night editor as to his duties and went home, to dream of my good fortune.</p>
 			<p>“The next morning I came down town about 9 o’clock, and it seemed to me I couldn’t see anything but newsboys. The town was full of them, and people were buying my paper as fast as the boys could hand them out. I fairly swelled with satisfaction and pride. As I neared the office I saw five men with shotguns standing on the sidewalk.</p>
 			<p>“One of them caught sight of me, and took a snap shot at me as I turned the corner. A buckshot went through my ear and several through my hat. I didn’t wait for explanation, as the other four men also tried to get a shot at me, and I cut around the corner and dodged into a back lot full of empty dry goods boxes.</p>
@@ -67,7 +67,7 @@
 			<p>“Sick at heart I crept upstairs to the editorial rooms. There was considerable noise going on. I went in easy as I could and looked around. My $50 editorial writer was in a corner with half a chair in his hands defending himself manfully against a quorum of the city council. He had laid out three of them and was putting up a great fight. The city editor was lying on the floor with four men sitting on him, and a large, angry German was trying to punch the dramatic editor off the top of the book case with a piece of gas pipe.</p>
 			<p>“It is enough to discourage any man to have a staff that is paying him $1,400 per month treated that way.</p>
 			<p>“I went into my private office, and the enraged public followed me there. I knew it was no use to argue with them, so I pulled out my checkbook and tried to compromise. When all the money I had in the bank was exhausted, and another batch of infuriated citizens came in, I gave up in despair.</p>
-			<p>“At 11 o’clock the business office force came up in a body and resigned. At 12 o’clock damage suits were filed against the paper to the amount of $200,000, and I knew every one of them was good for a judgment. I went down stairs and got about nine drinks and came back. I met the editorial writer on the stairs, and I hit him on the point of the chin without saying a word. He still held one leg of the chair in his hand, and he swiped me over the head with it and ran. When I got inside I found that the dramatic critic was about to win the day. He was a college man and a great football player. He had thrashed the big German and had pulled the four citizens off the city editor, and they were waging great battle with the foe. Just then the society editor dashed into the room barefooted, in his shirt and trousers, and I heard a tremendous screeching and chattering, as if a thousand parrots were talking at once.</p>
+			<p>“At 11 o’clock the business office force came up in a body and resigned. At 12 o’clock damage suits were filed against the paper to the amount of $200,000, and I knew every one of them was good for a judgment. I went downstairs and got about nine drinks and came back. I met the editorial writer on the stairs, and I hit him on the point of the chin without saying a word. He still held one leg of the chair in his hand, and he swiped me over the head with it and ran. When I got inside I found that the dramatic critic was about to win the day. He was a college man and a great football player. He had thrashed the big German and had pulled the four citizens off the city editor, and they were waging great battle with the foe. Just then the society editor dashed into the room barefooted, in his shirt and trousers, and I heard a tremendous screeching and chattering, as if a thousand parrots were talking at once.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>“ ‘Run!’ he gasped out. ‘The women are coming.’</p>
 			<p>“I looked out the window and saw that the sidewalk was full of them. I made a break for a back window, jumped off onto a shed, and never stopped until I was a mile out of town. That was the end of Binkley’s Practical School of Journalism. I have been tramping about the country ever since.</p>

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@@ -15,7 +15,7 @@
 			<p>“When I woke up I heard roosters crowing, and smelt something like the fumes of nitro-muriatic acid, and heard something heavy fall on the floor below us, and a man swearing.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Cheer up, Andy,’ says I. ‘We’re in a rural community. Somebody has just tested a gold brick downstairs. We’ll go out and get what’s coming to us from a farmer; and then yoicks! and away.’</p>
 			<p>“Farmers was always a kind of reserve fund to me. Whenever I was in hard luck I’d go to the crossroads, hook a finger in a farmer’s suspender, recite the prospectus of my swindle in a mechanical kind of a way, look over what he had, give him back his keys, whetstone and papers that was of no value except to owner, and stroll away without asking any questions. Farmers are not fair game to me as high up in our business as me and Andy was; but there was times when we found ’em useful, just as Wall Street does the Secretary of the Treasury now and then.</p>
-			<p>“When we went down stairs we saw we was in the midst of the finest farming section we ever see. About two miles away on a hill was a big white house in a grove surrounded by a widespread agricultural agglomeration of fields and barns and pastures and outhouses.</p>
+			<p>“When we went downstairs we saw we was in the midst of the finest farming section we ever see. About two miles away on a hill was a big white house in a grove surrounded by a widespread agricultural agglomeration of fields and barns and pastures and outhouses.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Whose house is that?’ we asked the landlord.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘That,’ says he, ‘is the domicile and the arboreal, terrestrial and horticultural accessories of Farmer Ezra Plunkett, one of our county’s most progressive citizens.’</p>
 			<p>“After breakfast me and Andy, with eight cents capital left, casts the horoscope of the rural potentate.</p>

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@@ -48,7 +48,7 @@
 			<p>“All right,” said <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons, “I paid for the beer.”</p>
 			<p>The bartender pointed out the way through a little hallway, where they entered another door and found a very glib gentleman who persuaded them to buy tickets that admitted them upstairs. They ascended and found themselves in the family circle of a little theater. There were about twenty or thirty men and boys scattered about among the seats, and the performance seemed quite well under way. On the stage a very exaggerated Irishman was chasing a very exaggerated negro with an ax, while a soubrettish young lady dressed in a ruffle and blue tights stood upon a barrel and screamed something in a high, cracked voice.</p>
 			<hr/>
-			<p>“I shouldn’t like it if there should happen to be anyone down stairs that knows me,” said the captain. “Suppose we take one of these boxes.” They went into a little box, screened from view by soiled cheap lace curtains, containing four or five chairs and a little table with little rings all over it made by the bottoms of wet glasses.</p>
+			<p>“I shouldn’t like it if there should happen to be anyone downstairs that knows me,” said the captain. “Suppose we take one of these boxes.” They went into a little box, screened from view by soiled cheap lace curtains, containing four or five chairs and a little table with little rings all over it made by the bottoms of wet glasses.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons was delighted with the performance. He laughed unrestrainedly at the jokes of the comedian, and leaned half out of the box to applaud when the DeVere sisters did their song and dance and split specialty. Captain Clancy leaned back in his chair and hardly looked at the stage, but on his face was an expression of large content, and a tranquil smile. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons kept the carpet bag in both hands all this time. Presently, while he was listening with apparent rapture to a topical song by <abbr>Mlle.</abbr> Fanchon, the Parisian nightingale, he felt a hand laid on his shoulder. He turned about and beheld a vision that seemed to take away his breath. Two radiant beings in white, with blue ribbons, and showing quite a stretch of black ribbed stockings were in the box. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons hugged his carpet bag to his breast and started up in embarrassed alarm.</p>
 			<p>“Don’t shy, old man,” said one of them. “Sit down and buy some beer.”</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons seemed so full of blushes and perturbation for a while that he scarcely knew what he was doing, but Captain Clancy seemed so cool and easy, and began to chat so companionably with the ladies that he presently took courage, and the next quarter of an hour found the four seated opposite one another at the little table, and a colored waiter was kept busy bringing bottles of beer from the bar and carrying away empty glasses. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons grew absolutely hilarious. He told funny stories about ranch life, and spoke quite boastingly about the gay times he had had in Kansas City during the three days he was there.</p>
@@ -62,7 +62,7 @@
 			<p>“Great heavens!” cried <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons, “this lady has fainted. Call a doctor, or get some water or somethin’ quick.”</p>
 			<p>“Say,” said Lillie, lighting a cigarette, “don’t get woozy. She’ll sleep it off. You gents get out for a while. Say, J-Mister, tell the bartender to send Sam up as you go out. Good night.”</p>
 			<p>“We had better go,” said the captain.</p>
-			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons, with many protestations of sympathy and anxiety, was led away by Captain Clancy down stairs, where he delivered the message, and thence out into the cool night air.</p>
+			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons, with many protestations of sympathy and anxiety, was led away by Captain Clancy downstairs, where he delivered the message, and thence out into the cool night air.</p>
 			<p>He was feeling pretty strongly the effects of the beer he had drunk, and leaned heavily upon the captain’s arm. Captain Clancy assured him that the lady would be all right in a little while, that she had merely drunk a little too much beer, which had affected her rather suddenly, and succeeded in restoring <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons to his former cheerful spirits.</p>
 			<p>“It is not yet half past eleven,” said the captain. “How would you like to go up into one of the gambling rooms just to look on a while? It is a very interesting sight.”</p>
 			<p>“Just the thing,” said <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons. “They are not new things to me at all. Twice I have been in ’em in San Antone. Saw a feller win $18 one night in this game you play with little buttons on little boards.”</p>

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@@ -27,7 +27,7 @@
 			<p>“I was sent for once,” went on the barber, as he seized his victim by the ear and slammed his head over on the other side, “to go out on Piney Street and shave a dead man. Barbers don’t much like a job of that kind, although they get from $5 to $10 for the work. It was 1908 Piney Street. I started about 11 o’clock at night. I found the street all right and I counted from the corner until I found 1908. I had my razors, soap and mug in a little case I use for such purposes. I went in and knocked at the door. An old man opened it and his eye fell on my case.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘You’ve come, have you?’ he asked. ‘Well, go upstairs; he’s in the front room to your right. There’s nobody with him. He hasn’t any friends or relatives in town; he’s only been boarding here about a week.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘How long since he⁠—since it occurred?’ I asked.</p>
-			<p>“ ‘About an hour, I guess,’ says the old man. I was glad of that because corpses always shave better before they get good and cold. I went in the room and turned up the lamp. The man was laid out on the bed. He was warm yet and he had about a week’s growth of beard on. I got to work and in half an hour I had given him a nice clean shave that would have done his heart good if he had been alive. Then I went down stairs and saw the old man.</p>
+			<p>“ ‘About an hour, I guess,’ says the old man. I was glad of that because corpses always shave better before they get good and cold. I went in the room and turned up the lamp. The man was laid out on the bed. He was warm yet and he had about a week’s growth of beard on. I got to work and in half an hour I had given him a nice clean shave that would have done his heart good if he had been alive. Then I went downstairs and saw the old man.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘What success?’ he asked.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Good,’ says I. ‘He’s fixed up all right. Who’s to pay?’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘He gave me $30 to send his folks in Alabama yesterday,’ says the old man. ‘I guess your fee will have to come out of it.’</p>

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@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@
 			<p>“When the proclamation was made opening up to the people by special grant the public parks that belong to ’em, there was a general exodus into Central Park by the communities existing along its borders. In ten minutes after sundown you’d have thought that there was an undress rehearsal of a potato famine in Ireland and a Kishineff massacre. They come by families, gangs, clambake societies, clans, clubs and tribes from all sides to enjoy a cool sleep on the grass. Them that didn’t have oil stoves brought along plenty of blankets, so as not to be upset with the cold and discomforts of sleeping outdoors. By building fires of the shade trees and huddling together in the bridle paths, and burrowing under the grass where the ground was soft enough, the likes of 5,000 head of people successfully battled against the night air in Central Park alone.</p>
 			<p>“Ye know I live in the elegant furnished apartment house called the Beersheba Flats, over against the elevated portion of the New York Central Railroad.</p>
 			<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 down stairs from Danny Geoghegan’s flat on the top floor to the apartments of Missis Goldsteinupski on the first.</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>“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>

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@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@
 			<p>When the clock struck ten, Tansey hastily laid down his cue and struck sharply upon the showcase with a coin for the attendant to come and receive the pay for his score.</p>
 			<p>“What’s your hurry, Tansey?” called one. “Got another engagement?”</p>
 			<p>“Tansey got an engagement!” echoed another. “Not on your life. Tansey’s got to get home at Motten by her Peek’s orders.”</p>
-			<p>“It’s no such thing,” chimed in a pale youth, taking a large cigar from his mouth; “Tansey’s afraid to be late because Miss Katie might come down stairs to unlock the door, and kiss him in the hall.”</p>
+			<p>“It’s no such thing,” chimed in a pale youth, taking a large cigar from his mouth; “Tansey’s afraid to be late because Miss Katie might come downstairs to unlock the door, and kiss him in the hall.”</p>
 			<p>This delicate piece of raillery sent a fiery tingle into Tansey’s blood, for the indictment was true⁠—barring the kiss. That was a thing to dream of; to wildly hope for; but too remote and sacred a thing to think of lightly.</p>
 			<p>Casting a cold and contemptuous look at the speaker⁠—a punishment commensurate with his own diffident spirit⁠—Tansey left the room, descending the stairs into the street.</p>
 			<p>For two years he had silently adored Miss Peek, worshipping her from a spiritual distance through which her attractions took on stellar brightness and mystery. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Peek kept a few choice boarders, among whom was Tansey. The other young men romped with Katie, chased her with crickets in their fingers, and “jollied” her with an irreverent freedom that turned Tansey’s heart into cold lead in his bosom. The signs of his adoration were few⁠—a tremulous “Good morning,” stealthy glances at her during meals, and occasionally (Oh, rapture!) a blushing, delirious game of cribbage with her in the parlour on some rare evening when a miraculous lack of engagement kept her at home. Kiss him in the hall! Aye, he feared it, but it was an ecstatic fear such as Elijah must have felt when the chariot lifted him into the unknown.</p>
@@ -96,7 +96,7 @@
 			<hr/>
 			<p>Clothed in an elaborate, pale blue wrapper, cut to fit, Miss Katie Peek reclined in an armchair before a waning fire in her room. Her little, bare feet were thrust into house-shoes rimmed with swan’s down. By the light of a small lamp she was attacking the society news of the latest Sunday paper. Some happy substance, seemingly indestructible, was being rhythmically crushed between her small white teeth. Miss Katie read of functions and furbelows, but she kept a vigilant ear for outside sounds and a frequent eye upon the clock over the mantel. At every footstep upon the asphalt sidewalk her smooth, round chin would cease for a moment its regular rise and fall, and a frown of listening would pucker her pretty brows.</p>
 			<p>At last she heard the latch of the iron gate click. She sprang up, tripped softly to the mirror, where she made a few of those feminine, flickering passes at her front hair and throat which are warranted to hypnotize the approaching guest.</p>
-			<p>The doorbell rang. Miss Katie, in her haste, turned the blaze of the lamp lower instead of higher, and hastened noiselessly down stairs into the hall. She turned the key, the door opened, and <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Tansey sidestepped in.</p>
+			<p>The doorbell rang. Miss Katie, in her haste, turned the blaze of the lamp lower instead of higher, and hastened noiselessly downstairs into the hall. She turned the key, the door opened, and <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Tansey sidestepped in.</p>
 			<p>“Why, the i-de-a!” exclaimed Miss Katie, “is this you, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Tansey? It’s after midnight. Aren’t you ashamed to wake me up at such an hour to let you in? You’re just <em>awful</em>!”</p>
 			<p>“I was late,” said Tansey, brilliantly.</p>
 			<p>“I should think you were! Ma was awfully worried about you. When you weren’t in by ten, that hateful Tom McGill said you were out calling on another⁠—said you were out calling on some young lady. I just despise <abbr>Mr.</abbr> McGill. Well, I’m not going to scold you any more, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Tansey, if it <em>is</em> a little late⁠—Oh! I turned it the wrong way!”</p>

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@@ -12,7 +12,7 @@
 			<p>When they got to feeling a little mellow they sat down at a table and commenced lying. Not maliciously, but just ordinary, friendly lying, about the things they had seen and done. They all tried their hand at relating experiences, and as the sky was clear, there was no matinee performance of the Ananias tragedy.</p>
 			<p>Finally the judge suggested the concoction of a fine large julep⁠—a julep that would render the use of curling irons unnecessary⁠—and the one who told the most improbable story should be allowed to produce the vacuum in the straws.</p>
 			<p>The major and the judge led off with a couple of marvelous narratives which were about a tie. The colonel moistened his lips as his eye rested on the big glass filled with diamonds and amber, and crowned with fragrant mint. He commenced his story:</p>
-			<p>“The incident I am about to relate is not only wonderful, but true. It happened in this very town on Saturday afternoon. I got up rather early Saturday morning, as I had a big day’s work ahead of me. My wife fixed me up a rattling good cocktail when I got up and I was feeling pretty good. When I came down stairs she handed me a five-dollar bill that had dropped out of my pocket and said: ‘John, you must really get a better looking housemaid. Jane is so homely, and you never did admire her. See if you can find a real nice-looking one⁠—and John, dear, you are working too hard. You must really have some recreation. Why not take Miss Muggins, your typewriter, out for a drive this afternoon? Then you might stop at the milliner’s and tell them not to send up that hat I ordered, and⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“The incident I am about to relate is not only wonderful, but true. It happened in this very town on Saturday afternoon. I got up rather early Saturday morning, as I had a big day’s work ahead of me. My wife fixed me up a rattling good cocktail when I got up and I was feeling pretty good. When I came downstairs she handed me a five-dollar bill that had dropped out of my pocket and said: ‘John, you must really get a better looking housemaid. Jane is so homely, and you never did admire her. See if you can find a real nice-looking one⁠—and John, dear, you are working too hard. You must really have some recreation. Why not take Miss Muggins, your typewriter, out for a drive this afternoon? Then you might stop at the milliner’s and tell them not to send up that hat I ordered, and⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Hold on. Colonel,” said the judge. “You just drink that mint julep right now. You needn’t go any further with your story.”</p>
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