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Add <footer> tags to signatures and adjust styling
This commit is contained in:
Alex Cabal
parent
528f5b5210
commit
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@ -137,8 +137,12 @@ p span.i3{
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font-variant: small-caps;
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}
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[epub|type~="z3998:letter"] footer,
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p.signature{
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[epub|type~="z3998:letter"] footer{
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margin-top: 1em;
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text-align: right;
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}
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#queries-and-answers p.signature{
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text-align: right;
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}
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@ -80,7 +80,9 @@
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<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">My Dear Sir:</p>
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</header>
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<p>I beg permission to inform you that there is in my house as a temporary guest a young man who arrived in Buenas Tierras from the United States some days ago. Without wishing to excite any hopes that may not be realized, I think there is a possibility of his being your long-absent son. It might be well for you to call and see him. If he is, it is my opinion that his intention was to return to his home, but upon arriving here, his courage failed him from doubts as to how he would be received. <span epub:type="z3998:valediction">Your true servant,</span></p>
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<p class="signature">Thompson Thacker.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Thompson Thacker.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>Half an hour afterward—quick time for Buenas Tierras—Señor Urique’s ancient landau drove to the consul’s door, with the barefooted coachman beating and shouting at the team of fat, awkward horses.</p>
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<p>A tall man with a white moustache alighted, and assisted to the ground a lady who was dressed and veiled in unrelieved black.</p>
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@ -59,7 +59,9 @@
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<p>Let us look over his shoulder and read just a few lines of one of them:</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">My Dear, Dear Husband</span>: Just received your letter ordering us to stay another month. … Rita’s cough is almost gone. … Johnny has simply gone wild like a little Indian … Will be the making of both children … work so hard, and I know that your business can hardly afford to keep us here so long … best man that ever … you always pretend that you like the city in summer … trout fishing that you used to be so fond of … and all to keep us well and happy … come to you if it were not doing the babies so much good. … I stood last evening on Chimney Rock in exactly the same spot where I was when you put the wreath of roses on my head … through all the world … when you said you would be my true knight … fifteen years ago, dear, just think! … have always been that to me … ever and ever,</p>
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<p class="signature">Mary.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Mary.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>The man who said he thought New York the finest summer resort in the country dropped into a café on his way home and had a glass of beer under an electric fan.</p>
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<p>“Wonder what kind of a fly old Harding used,” he said to himself.</p>
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@ -18,7 +18,9 @@
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<p>One other item requiring special cognizance was a brief “personal,” running thus:</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Jack</span>:—Forgive me. You were right. Meet me corner Madison and ⸺th at 8:30 this morning. We leave at noon.</p>
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<p class="signature">Penitent.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Penitent.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>At 8 o’clock a young man with a haggard look and the feverish gleam of unrest in his eye dropped a penny and picked up the top paper as he passed Giuseppi’s stand. A sleepless night had left him a late riser. There was an office to be reached by nine, and a shave and a hasty cup of coffee to be crowded into the interval.</p>
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<p>He visited his barber shop and then hurried on his way. He pocketed his paper, meditating a belated perusal of it at the luncheon hour. At the next corner it fell from his pocket, carrying with it his pair of new gloves. Three blocks he walked, missed the gloves and turned back fuming.</p>
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@ -42,7 +42,9 @@
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<p>The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed him. His hand was steady when he began to read, but it trembled a little by the time he had finished. The note was rather short.</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Bob</span>: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn’t do it myself, so I went around and got a plainclothes man to do the job.</p>
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<p class="signature">Jimmy.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Jimmy.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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</article>
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</body>
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@ -72,7 +72,9 @@
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<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Sir:</p>
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<p>As you are aware, our contract for the year expires with the present month. While regretting the necessity for so doing, we must say that we do not care to renew same for the coming year. We were quite pleased with your style of humor, which seems to have delighted quite a large proportion of our readers. But for the past two months we have noticed a decided falling off in its quality. Your earlier work showed a spontaneous, easy, natural flow of fun and wit. Of late it is labored, studied, and unconvincing, giving painful evidence of hard toil and drudging mechanism.</p>
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<p>Again regretting that we do not consider your contributions available any longer, we are, yours sincerely,</p>
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<p class="signature">The Editor.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">The Editor.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I handed this letter to my wife. After she had read it her face grew extremely long, and there were tears in her eyes.</p>
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<p>“The mean old thing!” she exclaimed indignantly. “I’m sure your pieces are just as good as they ever were. And it doesn’t take you half as long to write them as it did.” And then, I suppose, Louisa thought of the checks that would cease coming. “Oh, John,” she wailed, “what will you do now?”</p>
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@ -40,7 +40,9 @@
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline"><span epub:type="z3998:recipient"><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Beriah Hoskins</span>, Harmony, Vermont.</p>
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Sir</span>: Henceforth, consider me as dead to you forever. I have loved you too well to blight your career by bringing into it my guilty and sin-stained life. I have succumbed to the insidious wiles of this wicked world and have been drawn into the vortex of Bohemia. There is scarcely any depth of glittering iniquity that I have not sounded. It is hopeless to combat my decision. There is no rising from the depths to which I have sunk. Endeavor to forget me. I am lost forever in the fair but brutal maze of awful Bohemia. Farewell.</p>
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<p class="signature">Once Your Medora.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Once Your Medora.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>On the next day Medora formed her resolutions. Beelzebub, flung from heaven, was no more cast down. Between her and the apple blossoms of Harmony there was a fixed gulf. Flaming cherubim warded her from the gates of her lost paradise. In one evening, by the aid of Binkley and Mumm, Bohemia had gathered her into its awful midst.</p>
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<p>There remained to her but one thing—a life of brilliant, but irremediable error. Vermont was a shrine that she never would dare to approach again. But she would not sink—there were great and compelling ones in history upon whom she would model her meteoric career—Camille, Lola Montez, Royal Mary, Zaza—such a name as one of these would that of Medora Martin be to future generations.</p>
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@ -11,10 +11,8 @@
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<h2 epub:type="title">Holding Up a Train</h2>
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<blockquote epub:type="epigraph">
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<p><b>Note.</b> The man who told me these things was for several years an outlaw in the Southwest and a follower of the pursuit he so frankly describes. His description of the <span xml:lang="la">modus operandi</span> should prove interesting, his counsel of value to the potential passenger in some future “holdup,” while his estimate of the pleasures of train robbing will hardly induce anyone to adopt it as a profession. I give the story in almost exactly his own words.</p>
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<cite>
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<span class="signature">
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<abbr class="name eoc">O. H.</abbr>
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</span>
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<cite class="signature">
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<abbr class="name eoc">O. H.</abbr>
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</cite>
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</blockquote>
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</header>
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@ -88,7 +88,9 @@
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<p>He picked up an envelope that lay on the centre-table and tore it open. He began to read the letter that he drew out of it; and once having begun it aloud he so read it through to the end. These are the words that Editor Westbrook heard:</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p>“<span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear Shackleford</span>: By the time you get this I will be about a hundred miles away and still a-going. I’ve got a place in the chorus of the Occidental Opera <abbr>Co.</abbr>, and we start on the road today at twelve o’clock. I didn’t want to starve to death, and so I decided to make my own living. I’m not coming back. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Westbrook is going with me. She said she was tired of living with a combination phonograph, iceberg and dictionary, and she’s not coming back, either. We’ve been practising the songs and dances for two months on the quiet. I hope you will be successful, and get along all right! Goodbye.</p>
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<p epub:type="z3998:sender">“<span class="signature">Louise</span>.”</p>
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<footer>
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<p epub:type="z3998:sender">“<span class="signature">Louise</span>.”</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>Dawe dropped the letter, covered his face with his trembling hands, and cried out in a deep, vibrating voice:</p>
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<p>
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@ -33,9 +33,9 @@
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<p epub:type="z3998:valediction">Your <abbr>Obt.</abbr> Servant,</p>
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<p class="signature" epub:type="z3998:sender">John De Graffenreid Atwood,</p>
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<p><abbr class="initialism">US</abbr> Consul at Coralio.</p>
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<p epub:type="z3998:postscript"><abbr>P.S.</abbr>—Hello! Uncle Obadiah. How’s the old burg racking along? What would the government do without you and me? Look out for a green-headed parrot and a bunch of bananas soon, from your old friend</p>
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<p class="signature" epub:type="z3998:sender">Johnny</p>
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</footer>
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<p epub:type="z3998:postscript"><abbr>P.S.</abbr>—Hello! Uncle Obadiah. How’s the old burg racking along? What would the government do without you and me? Look out for a green-headed parrot and a bunch of bananas soon, from your old friend</p>
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<p class="signature" epub:type="z3998:sender">Johnny</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>“I throw in that postscript,” explained the consul, “so Uncle Obadiah won’t take offence at the official tone of the letter! Now, Billy, you get that correspondence fixed up, and send Pancho to the post-office with it. The <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship">Ariadne</i> takes the mail out tomorrow if they make up that load of fruit today.”</p>
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<p>The night programme in Coralio never varied. The recreations of the people were soporific and flat. They wandered about, barefoot and aimless, speaking lowly and smoking cigar or cigarette. Looking down on the dimly lighted ways one seemed to see a threading maze of brunette ghosts tangled with a procession of insane fireflies. In some houses the thrumming of lugubrious guitars added to the depression of the <span xml:lang="fr">triste</span> night. Giant tree-frogs rattled in the foliage as loudly as the end man’s “bones” in a minstrel troupe. By nine o’clock the streets were almost deserted.</p>
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@ -22,7 +22,9 @@
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<p>Turpin’s suspicions were allayed for the time. But one day soon there came an anonymous letter to him that read:</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p>Watch your wife. She is blowing in your money secretly. I was a sufferer just as you are. The place is <abbr>No.</abbr> 345 Blank Street. A word to the wise, <abbr class="eoc">etc.</abbr></p>
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<p class="signature">A Man Who Knows.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">A Man Who Knows.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>Turpin took this letter to the captain of police of the precinct that he lived in.</p>
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<p>“My precinct is as clean as a hound’s tooth,” said the captain. “The lid’s shut down as close there as it is over the eye of a Williamsburg girl when she’s kissed at a party. But if you think there’s anything queer at the address, I’ll go there with ye.”</p>
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@ -63,7 +63,9 @@
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<blockquote>
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<p epub:type="z3998:recipient">The New York <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Morning Mars</i>:</p>
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<p>Please pay to the order of John Kernan the one thousand dollars reward coming to me for his arrest and conviction.</p>
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<p class="signature">Barnard Woods.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Barnard Woods.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>“I kind of thought they would do that,” said Woods, “when you were jollying them so hard. Now, Johnny, you’ll come to the police station with me.”</p>
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</article>
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@ -33,7 +33,9 @@
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<p>
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<b>Come back and the answer will be yes.</b>
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</p>
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<p class="signature">Dolly.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Dolly.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>He kept the boy waiting ten minutes, and then wrote the reply: “Impossible to leave here at present.” Then he sat at the window again and let the city put its cup of mandragora to his lips again.</p>
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<p>After all it isn’t a story; but I wanted to know which one of the heroes won the battle against the city. So I went to a very learned friend and laid the case before him. What he said was: “Please don’t bother me; I have Christmas presents to buy.”</p>
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@ -17,7 +17,9 @@
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<p>The message was handed to him. Slowly spelling it out, he found it to be his first official order—thus running:</p>
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<blockquote>
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<p>Proceed immediately with your vessel to mouth of Rio Ruiz; transport beef and provisions to barracks at Alforan.</p>
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<p class="signature">Martinez, General.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Martinez, General.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>Small glory, to be sure, in this, his country’s first call. But it had called, and joy surged in the admiral’s breast. He drew his cutlass belt to another buckle hole, roused his dozing crew, and in a quarter of an hour <i epub:type="se:name.vessel.ship" xml:lang="es">El Nacional</i> was tacking swiftly down coast in a stiff landward breeze.</p>
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<p>The Rio Ruiz is a small river, emptying into the sea ten miles below Coralio. That portion of the coast is wild and solitary. Through a gorge in the Cordilleras rushes the Rio Ruiz, cold and bubbling, to glide, at last, with breadth and leisure, through an alluvial morass into the sea.</p>
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@ -21,10 +21,8 @@
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear John</span>: I just had a telegram saying mother is very sick. I am going to take the 4:30 train. Brother Sam is going to meet me at the depot there. There is cold mutton in the ice box. I hope it isn’t her quinzy again. Pay the milkman 50 cents. She had it bad last spring. Don’t forget to write to the company about the gas meter, and your good socks are in the top drawer. I will write tomorrow.</p>
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<footer>
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<p>
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<span epub:type="z3998:valediction">Hastily,</span>
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<span class="signature">Katy.</span>
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</p>
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<p epub:type="z3998:valediction">Hastily,</p>
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<p class="signature">Katy.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>Never during their two years of matrimony had he and Katy been separated for a night. John read the note over and over in a dumbfounded way. Here was a break in a routine that had never varied, and it left him dazed.</p>
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<p>The messenger will place the answer in this box and return immediately to Summit.</p>
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<p>If you attempt any treachery or fail to comply with our demand as stated, you will never see your boy again.</p>
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<p>If you pay the money as demanded, he will be returned to you safe and well within three hours. These terms are final, and if you do not accede to them no further communication will be attempted.</p>
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<p class="signature">Two Desperate Men.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Two Desperate Men.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>I addressed this letter to Dorset, and put it in my pocket. As I was about to start, the kid comes up to me and says:</p>
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<p>“Aw, Snake-eye, you said I could play the Black Scout while you was gone.”</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p epub:type="z3998:recipient">Two Desperate Men.</p>
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<p><span epub:type="z3998:salutation">Gentlemen</span>: I received your letter today by post, in regard to the ransom you ask for the return of my son. I think you are a little high in your demands, and I hereby make you a counter-proposition, which I am inclined to believe you will accept. You bring Johnny home and pay me two hundred and fifty dollars in cash, and I agree to take him off your hands. You had better come at night, for the neighbours believe he is lost, and I couldn’t be responsible for what they would do to anybody they saw bringing him back. <span epub:type="z3998:valediction">Very respectfully</span>,</p>
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<p class="signature">Ebenezer Dorset.</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Ebenezer Dorset.</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>“Great pirates of Penzance!” says I; “of all the impudent—”</p>
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<p>But I glanced at Bill, and hesitated. He had the most appealing look in his eyes I ever saw on the face of a dumb or a talking brute.</p>
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<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
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<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">To the Gent of de Hous:</p>
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<p>Dere is five tuff hoboes xcept meself in the vaken lot near de road war de old brick piles is. Dey got me stuck up wid a gun see and I taken dis means of communication. 2 of der lads is gone down to set fire to de cain field below de hous and when yous fellers goes to turn de hoes on it de hole gang is goin to rob de hous of de money yoo gotto pay off wit say git a move on ye say de kid dropt dis sock in der rode tel her mery crismus de same as she told me. Ketch de bums down de rode first and den sen a relefe core to get me out of soke youres truly,</p>
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<p class="signature">Whistlen Dick</p>
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<footer>
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<p class="signature">Whistlen Dick</p>
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</footer>
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</blockquote>
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<p>There was some quiet, but rapid, mavoeuvring at Bellemeade during the ensuring half hour, which ended in five disgusted and sullen tramps being captured, and locked securely in an outhouse pending the coming of the morning and retribution. For another result, the visiting young gentlemen had secured the unqualified worship of the visiting young ladies by their distinguished and heroic conduct. For still another, behold Whistling Dick, the hero, seated at the planter’s table, feasting upon viands his experience had never before included, and waited upon by admiring femininity in shapes of such beauty and “swellness” that even his ever-full mouth could scarcely prevent him from whistling. He was made to disclose in detail his adventure with the evil gang of Boston Harry, and how he cunningly wrote the note and wrapped it around the stone and placed it at the toe of the stocking, and, watching his chance, sent it silently, with a wonderful centrifugal momentum, like a comet, at one of the big lighted windows of the dining-room.</p>
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<p>The planter vowed that the wanderer should wander no more; that his was a goodness and an honesty that should be rewarded, and that a debt of gratitude had been made that must be paid; for had he not saved them from a doubtless imminent loss, and maybe a greater calamity? He assured Whistling Dick that he might consider himself a charge upon the honour of Bellemeade; that a position suited to his powers would be found for him at once, and hinted that the way would be heartily smoothed for him to rise to as high places of emolument and trust as the plantation afforded.</p>
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