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@@ -86,7 +86,7 @@
 			<p>“You fool, you fool!” she cried, weeping and laughing, and hanging upon his neck, “why did you do it?”</p>
 			<p>“The Stuff,” explained Thomas briefly. “You know. But subsequently nit. Not a drop.” He led her to the curb. “How did you happen to see me?”</p>
 			<p>“I came to find you,” said Annie, holding tight to his sleeve. “Oh, you big fool! Professor Cherubusco told us that we might find you here.”</p>
-			<p>“Professor Ch⁠⸺ Don’t know the guy. What saloon does he work in?”</p>
+			<p>“Professor Ch⁠⸺. Don’t know the guy. What saloon does he work in?”</p>
 			<p>“He’s a clairvoyant, Thomas; the greatest in the world. He found you with the Chaldean telescope, he said.”</p>
 			<p>“He’s a liar,” said Thomas. “I never had it. He never saw me have anybody’s telescope.”</p>
 			<p>“And he said you came in a chariot with five wheels or something.”</p>

src/epub/text/the-girl-and-the-habit.xhtml

@@ -23,7 +23,7 @@
 			<p>There is no coign of vantage more effective than the position of young lady cashier. She sits there, easily queen of the court of commerce; she is duchess of dollars and devoirs, countess of compliments and coin, leading lady of love and luncheon. You take from her a smile and a Canadian dime, and you go your way uncomplaining. You count the cheery word or two that she tosses you as misers count their treasures; and you pocket the change for a five uncomputed. Perhaps the brassbound inaccessibility multiplies her charms⁠—anyhow, she is a shirt-waisted angel, immaculate, trim, manicured, seductive, bright-eyed, ready, alert⁠—Psyche, Circe, and Ate in one, separating you from your circulating medium after your sirloin medium.</p>
 			<p>The young men who broke bread at Hinkle’s never settled with the cashier without an exchange of badinage and open compliment. Many of them went to greater lengths and dropped promissory hints of theatre tickets and chocolates. The older men spoke plainly of orange blossoms, generally withering the tentative petals by after-allusions to Harlem flats. One broker, who had been squeezed by copper proposed to Miss Merriam more regularly than he ate.</p>
 			<p>During a brisk luncheon hour Miss Merriam’s conversation, while she took money for checks, would run something like this:</p>
-			<p>“Good morning, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Haskins⁠—sir?⁠—it’s natural, thank you⁠—don’t be quite so fresh … Hello, Johnny⁠—ten, fifteen, twenty⁠—chase along now or they’ll take the letters off your cap … Beg pardon⁠—count it again, please⁠—Oh, don’t mention it … Vaudeville?⁠—thanks; not on your moving picture⁠—I was to see Carter in Hedda Gabler on Wednesday night with <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons …’Scuse me, I thought that was a quarter … Twenty-five and seventy-five’s a dollar⁠—got that ham-and-cabbage habit yet. I see, Billy … Who are you addressing?⁠—say⁠—you’ll get all that’s coming to you in a minute … Oh, fudge! <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Bassett⁠—you’re always fooling⁠—no⁠—? Well, maybe I’ll marry you some day⁠—three, four and sixty-five is five … Kindly keep them remarks to yourself, if you please … Ten cents?⁠—‘scuse me; the check calls for seventy⁠—well, maybe it is a one instead of a seven … Oh, do you like it that way, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Saunders?⁠—some prefer a pomp; but they say this Cleo de Merody does suit refined features … and ten is fifty … Hike along there, buddy; don’t take this for a Coney Island ticket booth … Huh?⁠—why, Macy’s⁠—don’t it fit nice? Oh, no, it isn’t too cool⁠—these lightweight fabrics is all the go this season … Come again, please⁠—that’s the third time you’ve tried to⁠—what?⁠—forget it⁠—that lead quarter is an old friend of mine … Sixty-five?⁠—must have had your salary raised, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Wilson … I seen you on Sixth Avenue Tuesday afternoon, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> De Forest⁠—swell?⁠—oh, my!⁠—who is she? … What’s the matter with it?⁠—why, it ain’t money⁠—what?⁠—Columbian half?⁠—well, this ain’t South America … Yes, I like the mixed best⁠—Friday?⁠—awfully sorry, but I take my jiujitsu lesson on Friday⁠—Thursday, then … Thanks⁠—that’s sixteen times I’ve been told that this morning⁠—I guess I must be beautiful … Cut that out, please⁠—who do you think I am? … Why, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Westbrook⁠—do you really think so?⁠—the idea!⁠—one⁠—eighty and twenty’s a dollar⁠—thank you ever so much, but I don’t ever go automobile riding with gentlemen⁠—your aunt?⁠—well, that’s different⁠—perhaps … Please don’t get fresh⁠—your check was fifteen cents, I believe⁠—kindly step aside and let … Hello, Ben⁠—coming around Thursday evening?⁠—there’s a gentleman going to send around a box of chocolates, and … forty and sixty is a dollar, and one is two …”</p>
+			<p>“Good morning, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Haskins⁠—sir?⁠—it’s natural, thank you⁠—don’t be quite so fresh … Hello, Johnny⁠—ten, fifteen, twenty⁠—chase along now or they’ll take the letters off your cap … Beg pardon⁠—count it again, please⁠—Oh, don’t mention it … Vaudeville?⁠—thanks; not on your moving picture⁠—I was to see Carter in Hedda Gabler on Wednesday night with <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Simmons … ’Scuse me, I thought that was a quarter … Twenty-five and seventy-five’s a dollar⁠—got that ham-and-cabbage habit yet. I see, Billy … Who are you addressing?⁠—say⁠—you’ll get all that’s coming to you in a minute … Oh, fudge! <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Bassett⁠—you’re always fooling⁠—no⁠—? Well, maybe I’ll marry you some day⁠—three, four and sixty-five is five … Kindly keep them remarks to yourself, if you please … Ten cents?⁠—‘scuse me; the check calls for seventy⁠—well, maybe it is a one instead of a seven … Oh, do you like it that way, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Saunders?⁠—some prefer a pomp; but they say this Cleo de Merody does suit refined features … and ten is fifty … Hike along there, buddy; don’t take this for a Coney Island ticket booth … Huh?⁠—why, Macy’s⁠—don’t it fit nice? Oh, no, it isn’t too cool⁠—these lightweight fabrics is all the go this season … Come again, please⁠—that’s the third time you’ve tried to⁠—what?⁠—forget it⁠—that lead quarter is an old friend of mine … Sixty-five?⁠—must have had your salary raised, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Wilson … I seen you on Sixth Avenue Tuesday afternoon, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> De Forest⁠—swell?⁠—oh, my!⁠—who is she? … What’s the matter with it?⁠—why, it ain’t money⁠—what?⁠—Columbian half?⁠—well, this ain’t South America … Yes, I like the mixed best⁠—Friday?⁠—awfully sorry, but I take my jiujitsu lesson on Friday⁠—Thursday, then … Thanks⁠—that’s sixteen times I’ve been told that this morning⁠—I guess I must be beautiful … Cut that out, please⁠—who do you think I am? … Why, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Westbrook⁠—do you really think so?⁠—the idea!⁠—one⁠—eighty and twenty’s a dollar⁠—thank you ever so much, but I don’t ever go automobile riding with gentlemen⁠—your aunt?⁠—well, that’s different⁠—perhaps … Please don’t get fresh⁠—your check was fifteen cents, I believe⁠—kindly step aside and let … Hello, Ben⁠—coming around Thursday evening?⁠—there’s a gentleman going to send around a box of chocolates, and … forty and sixty is a dollar, and one is two …”</p>
 			<p>About the middle of one afternoon the dizzy goddess Vertigo⁠—whose other name is Fortune⁠—suddenly smote an old, wealthy and eccentric banker while he was walking past Hinkle’s, on his way to a street car. A wealthy and eccentric banker who rides in street cars is⁠—move up, please; there are others.</p>
 			<p>A Samaritan, a Pharisee, a man and a policeman who were first on the spot lifted Banker McRamsey and carried him into Hinkle’s restaurant. When the aged but indestructible banker opened his eyes he saw a beautiful vision bending over him with a pitiful, tender smile, bathing his forehead with beef tea and chafing his hands with something frappé out of a chafing-dish. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> McRamsey sighed, lost a vest button, gazed with deep gratitude upon his fair preserveress, and then recovered consciousness.</p>
 			<p>To the Seaside Library all who are anticipating a romance! Banker McRamsey had an aged and respected wife, and his sentiments toward Miss Merriam were fatherly. He talked to her for half an hour with interest⁠—not the kind that went with his talks during business hours. The next day he brought <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> McRamsey down to see her. The old couple were childless⁠—they had only a married daughter living in Brooklyn.</p>