Fix typos

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@@ -32,7 +32,7 @@
 			<p>“But they aren’t,” smiled Doctor Prince, “and we must be fashionable, at any rate.”</p>
 			<p>Doctor Prince burned midnight oil⁠—or its equivalent, a patent, electric, soft-shaded, midnight incandescent, over his case. With such little success did his light shine that he was forced to make a little speech to the Rankins full of scientific terms⁠—a thing he conscientiously avoided with his patients⁠—which shows that he was driven to expedient. At last he was reduced to suggest treatment by hypnotism.</p>
 			<p>Being crowded further, he advised it, and appeared another day with Professor Adami, the most reputable and non-advertising one he could find among that school of practitioners.</p>
-			<p>Miss Annabel, gentle and melancholy, fell an easy victim⁠—or, I should say, subject⁠—to the professor’s influence. Previously instructed by Doctor Prince in the nature of the malady he was about to combat, the dealer in mental drugs proceeded to offer “suggestion” (in the language of his school) to the afilicted and unconscious young lady, impressing her mind with the conviction that her affliction was moonshine and her perambulatory powers without impairment.</p>
+			<p>Miss Annabel, gentle and melancholy, fell an easy victim⁠—or, I should say, subject⁠—to the professor’s influence. Previously instructed by Doctor Prince in the nature of the malady he was about to combat, the dealer in mental drugs proceeded to offer “suggestion” (in the language of his school) to the afflicted and unconscious young lady, impressing her mind with the conviction that her affliction was moonshine and her perambulatory powers without impairment.</p>
 			<p>When the spell was removed Miss Rankin sat up, looking a little bewildered at first, and then rose to her feet, walking straight across the room with the grace, the sureness and the ease of a Diana, a Leslie-Carter, or a Vassar basketball champion. Miss Annabel’s sad face was now lit with hope and joy. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Rankin of Southern susceptibility wept a little, delightedly, upon a minute lace handkerchief. Miss Annabel continued to walk about firmly and accurately, in absolute control of the machinery necessary for her so to do. Doctor Prince quietly congratulated Professor Adami, and then stepped forward, smilingly rubbing his nose glasses with an air. His position enabled him to overshadow the hypnotizer who, contented to occupy the background temporarily, was busy estimating in his mind with how large a bill for services he would dare to embellish the occasion when he should come to the front.</p>
 			<p>Amid repeated expressions of gratitude, the two professional gentlemen made their adieus, a little elated at the success of the treatment which, with one of them, had been an experiment, with the other an exhibition.</p>
 			<p>As the door closed behind them. Miss Annabel, her usually serious and pensive temper somewhat enlivened by the occasion, sat at the piano and dashed into a stirring march. Outside, the two men moving toward the elevator heard a scream of alarm from her and hastened back. They found her on the piano-stool, with one hand still pressing the keys. The other arm was extended rigidly to its full length behind her, its fingers tightly clenched into a pink and pretty little fist. Her mother was bending over her, joining in the alarm and surprise. Miss Rankin rose from the stool, now quiet, but again depressed and sad.</p>
@@ -47,7 +47,7 @@
 			<p>“Dear Miss and <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Rankin,” he said, in his most musical consolation-baritone, “we have been only partially successful. The affliction, Miss Rankin, has passed from your⁠—that is, the affliction is now in your arms.”</p>
 			<p>“Oh, dear!” sighed Annabel, “I’ve a Beall arm and a Rankin arm, then. Well, I can use one hand at a time, anyway. People won’t notice it as they did before. Oh, what an annoyance those feuds were, to be sure! It seems to me they should make laws against them.”</p>
 			<p>Doctor Prince looked inquiringly at Professor Adami. That gentleman shook his head. “Another day,” he said. “I prefer not to establish the condition at a lesser interval than two or three days.”</p>
-			<p>So, three days afterward they returned, and the professor replaced Miss Rankin under control. This time there was, apparently, perfect success. She came forth from the trance, and with full muscular powers. She walked the floor with a sure, rythmic step. She played several difficult selections upon the piano, the hands and arms moving with propriety and with allied ease. Miss Rankin seemed at last to possess a perfectly well-ordered physical being as well as a very grateful mental one.</p>
+			<p>So, three days afterward they returned, and the professor replaced Miss Rankin under control. This time there was, apparently, perfect success. She came forth from the trance, and with full muscular powers. She walked the floor with a sure, rhythmic step. She played several difficult selections upon the piano, the hands and arms moving with propriety and with allied ease. Miss Rankin seemed at last to possess a perfectly well-ordered physical being as well as a very grateful mental one.</p>
 			<p>A week afterward there wafted into Doctor Prince’s office a youth, generously gilded. The hallmarks of society were deeply writ upon him.</p>
 			<p>“I’m Ashburton,” he explained; “<abbr class="name">T.</abbr> Ripley Ashburton, you know. I’m engaged to Miss Rankin. I understand you’ve been training her for some breaks in her gaits⁠—” <abbr class="name">T.</abbr> Ripley Ashburton caught himself. “Didn’t mean that, you know⁠—slipped out⁠—been loafing around stables quite a lot. I say, Doctor Prince, I want you to tell me. Candidly, you know. I’m awful spoons on Miss Rankin. We’re to be married in the fall. You might consider me one of the family, you know. They told me about the treatment you gave her with the⁠—er⁠—medium fellow. That set her up wonderfully, I assure you. She goes freely now, and handles her fore⁠—I mean you know, she’s over all that old trouble. But there’s something else started up that’s making the track pretty heavy; so I called, don’t you understand.”</p>
 			<p>“I had not been advised,” said Doctor Prince, “of any recurrence of Miss Rankin’s indisposition.”</p>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="a-question-of-direction" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">A Question of Direction</h2>
-			<p>Do you mean to tell me,” gasped the horrified gentleman from Boston, “that this man you speak of was shot and killed at a meeting of your debating society, and by the presiding officer himself, during the discussion of a question, simply because he arose and made a motion that was considered out of order?”</p>
+			<p>“Do you mean to tell me,” gasped the horrified gentleman from Boston, “that this man you speak of was shot and killed at a meeting of your debating society, and by the presiding officer himself, during the discussion of a question, simply because he arose and made a motion that was considered out of order?”</p>
 			<p>“He certainly was, sure,” said the colonel. “This is simply awful,” said the traveler. “I must make a note of this occurrence so that the people of my State can be apprised of the dreadful lawlessness that prevails in this section⁠—a man shot down and killed at a social and educational meeting for the infringement of an unimportant parliamentary error! It is awful to contemplate.”</p>
 			<p>“That’s whatever,” said the colonel reflectively. “It is for a fact. But you might state, in order to do justice to our community and town, which is, as it were, the Athens of Texas, that the motion made by the deceased was in the direction of his hip pocket. Shall we all liquor?”</p>
 		</article>

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@@ -19,7 +19,7 @@
 			<p>“Well, I own them and was just sitting here studying what I’m going to do.”</p>
 			<p>“What’s the trouble?”</p>
 			<p>“Why, the walls are cracking and bulging out on the sides, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to put a lot of money into repairs. I’ve got over one hundred tenants in those buildings.”</p>
-			<p>I’ll tell you what to do.”</p>
+			<p>“I’ll tell you what to do.”</p>
 			<p>“What?”</p>
 			<p>“You say the walls are bulging out?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes.”</p>

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@@ -21,7 +21,7 @@
 			<p>On a trestle stood a fresh keg of beer and his wife, who had put on a coquettish-looking cap and apron, tripped lightly behind the bar, and waving a beer mug coyly at him said:</p>
 			<p>“It’s an idea I had, Robert. I thought it would be much nicer to have you spend your money at home, and at the same time have all the amusement and pleasure that you do downtown. What will you have, sir?” she continued, with fine, commercial politeness.</p>
 			<p>Robert leaned against the bar and pawed the floor fruitlessly three or four times, trying to find the foot rest. He was a little stunned, as he always was at his wife’s original ideas. Then he braced himself and tried to conjure up a ghastly imitation of a smile.</p>
-			<p>I’ll take a beer, please,” he said.</p>
+			<p>“I’ll take a beer, please,” he said.</p>
 			<p>His wife drew the beer, laid the nickel on the shelf and leaned on the bar, chatting familiarly on the topics of the day after the manner of bartenders.</p>
 			<p>“You must buy plenty, now,” she said archly, “for you are the only customer I have tonight.”</p>
 			<p>Robert felt a strong oppression of spirits, which he tried to hide. Besides the beer, which was first rate, there was little to remind him of the saloons where he had heretofore spent his money.</p>

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@@ -11,7 +11,7 @@
 			<p>There is an old colored preacher in Texas who is a great admirer of the <abbr>Rev.</abbr> Sam Jones.<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-2" id="noteref-2" epub:type="noteref">2</a> Last Sunday he determined to drop his old style of exhorting the brethren, and pitch hot shot plump into the middle of their camp, after the manner so successfully followed by the famous Georgia evangelist. After the opening hymn had been sung, and the congregation led in prayer by a worthy deacon, the old preacher laid his spectacles on his Bible, and let out straight from the shoulder.</p>
 			<p>“My dearly belubbed,” he said, “I has been preachin’ to you fo’ mo’ dan five years, and de grace ob God hab failed to percolate in yo’ obstreperous hearts. I hab nebber seen a more or’nery lot dan dis belubbed congregation. Now dar is Sam Wadkins in de fo’th bench on de left. Kin anybody show me a no’counter, trashier, lowdowner buck nigger in dis community? Whar does the chicken feathers come from what I seen in his back yard dis mawnin’? Kin Brudder Wadkins rise and explain?”</p>
 			<p>Brother Wadkins sat in his pew with his eyes rolling and breathing hard, but was taken by surprise and did not respond.</p>
-			<p>“And dar is Elder Hoskins, on de right. Everybody knows he’s er lying, shiftless, beer-drinking bum. His wife supports him takin’ in washin’. What good is de blood of de Lamb done for him? Wonder ef he thinks dat he kin keep a lofin’ ’round in de kitchen ob de New Jerusalem ?”</p>
+			<p>“And dar is Elder Hoskins, on de right. Everybody knows he’s er lying, shiftless, beer-drinking bum. His wife supports him takin’ in washin’. What good is de blood of de Lamb done for him? Wonder ef he thinks dat he kin keep a lofin’ ’round in de kitchen ob de New Jerusalem?”</p>
 			<p>Elder Hoskins, goaded by these charges, rose in his seat, and said:</p>
 			<p>“Dat reminds me ob one thing. I doesn’t remember dat I hab ebber worked on de county road fur thirty days down in Bastrop County fur stealin’ a bale of cotton.”</p>
 			<p>“Who did? Who did?” said the parson, putting on his specs and glaring at the elder. “Who stole dat cotton? You shet yo’ mouf, niggah, fo’ I come down dah and bust you wide open. Den dar sets Miss Jinny Simpson. Look at dem fine clo’es she got on. Look at dem yallar shoes, and dem ostrick feathers, and dat silk waist and de white glubs. Whar she git de money to buy dem clo’es? She don’t work none. De Lawd am got his eye on dat triflin’ hussy, and He’s gwine ter fling her in de burnin’ brimstone and de squenchable pit.”</p>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="book-reviews" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Book Reviews</h2>
-			<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Unnabridged Dictionary by Noah Webster</i>, <abbr>L. L. D. F. R. S. X. Y. Z.</abbr></p>
+			<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Unabridged Dictionary by Noah Webster</i>, <abbr>L. L. D. F. R. S. X. Y. Z.</abbr></p>
 			<p>We find on our table quite an exhaustive treatise on various subjects, written in <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Webster’s well-known, lucid, and piquant style. There is not a dull line between the covers of the book. The range of subjects is wide, and the treatment light and easy without being flippant. A valuable feature of the work is the arranging of the articles in alphabetical order, thus facilitating the finding of any particular word desired. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Webster’s vocabulary is large, and he always uses the right word in the right place. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Webster’s work is thorough and we predict that he will be heard from again.</p>
 			<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Houston’s City Directory</i>, by Morrison and Fourmy.</p>
 			<p>This new book has the decided merit of being non-sensational. In these days of erratic and ultra-imaginative literature of the modern morbid self-analytical school it is a relief to peruse a book with so little straining after effect, so well balanced, and so pure in sentiment. It is a book that a man can place in the hands of the most innocent member of his family with the utmost confidence. Its material is healthy, and its literary style excellent, as it adheres to the methods used with such thrilling effect by <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Webster in his famous dictionary, viz: alphabetical arrangement.</p>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="by-easy-stages" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">By Easy Stages</h2>
-			<p>You’re at the wrong place,” said Cerberus. “This is the gate that leads to the infernal regions, while it is a passport to Heaven that you have handed me.”</p>
+			<p>“You’re at the wrong place,” said Cerberus. “This is the gate that leads to the infernal regions, while it is a passport to Heaven that you have handed me.”</p>
 			<p>“I know it,” said the departed shade wearily, “but it allows a stopover here; you see, I’m from Galveston and I have got to make the change gradually.”</p>
 		</article>
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@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<article id="coming-to-him" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Coming to Him</h2>
 			<p>The man who keeps up with the latest scientific discoveries is abroad in the land. He knows all about bacilli, microbes, and all the various newly found foes to mankind. He reads the papers and heeds all the warnings that lead to longevity and safety to mind and limb. He stopped a friend on Main Street yesterday who was hurrying to the post-office and said excitedly:</p>
-			<p>“Wait a minute, Brown. Do you ever bite your finger nails ?”</p>
+			<p>“Wait a minute, Brown. Do you ever bite your finger nails?”</p>
 			<p>“I think so⁠—no, I don’t know; excuse me, please, I’ve got to catch that car.”</p>
 			<p>“Hold on, man; great goodness alive, you don’t know what danger you are in. If a sharp particle of the nail gets into your lungs, inflammation is bound to set in, and finally laceration, consumption, hemorrhage, fits, coma, tuberculosis, and death. Think of it! And by the way, a new bacillus has been found in water in which roses have been left standing that is very fatal. I want to warn you. Do you know that⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Say, old man, I’m much obliged, but this letter⁠—”</p>

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@@ -51,10 +51,10 @@
 				</p>
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>“When did this happen?” asked the night editor.</p>
-			<p>I wrote it last night, sir,” said the young lady. “Is it good enough to print?”</p>
+			<p>“I wrote it last night, sir,” said the young lady. “Is it good enough to print?”</p>
 			<p>“Last night! H’m. A little stale, but the other papers didn’t get it. Now, miss,” continued the night editor, smiling and throwing out his chest, “I’m going to teach you a lesson in the newspaper business. We can use this item, but it’s not in proper shape. Just take that chair, and I’ll rewrite it for you, showing you how to properly condense a news item in order to secure its insertion.”</p>
 			<p>The young lady seated herself and the night editor knitted his brows and read over the poem two or three times to get the main points. He then wrote a few lines upon a sheet of paper and said:</p>
-			<p>Now, miss, here is the form in which your item will appear when we print it:</p>
+			<p>“Now, miss, here is the form in which your item will appear when we print it:</p>
 			<blockquote>
 				<header>
 					<p>Fatal Accident</p>
@@ -63,7 +63,7 @@
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>“Now, you see, miss, the item includes the main facts in the case, and⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Sir!” said the young lady indignantly. “There is nothing of the kind intimated in the poem. The lines are imaginary and are intended to express the sorrow of a poet’s friend at his untimely demise.”</p>
-			<p>Why, miss,” said the night editor, “it plainly refers to midnight oil, and a crash, and when the light blew up the gent was left for dead in the room.”</p>
+			<p>“Why, miss,” said the night editor, “it plainly refers to midnight oil, and a crash, and when the light blew up the gent was left for dead in the room.”</p>
 			<p>“You horrid thing,” said the young lady, “give me my manuscript. I will bring it back when the literary editor is in.”</p>
 			<p>“I’m sorry,” said the night editor as he handed her the roll. “We’re short on news tonight, and it would have made a nice little scoop. Don’t happen to know of any accidents in your ward: births, runaways, holdups, or breach of promise suits, do you?”</p>
 			<p>But the slamming of the door was the only answer from the fair poetess.</p>

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@@ -36,7 +36,7 @@
 			<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Hartley, with a tender, reminiscent light in his eye; “I remember well the evening I first saw you at the Montgomerys’. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Montgomery was sounding your praises to me all the evening. And she hardly did you justice. I shall never forget that supper. Come, Vivienne, promise me. I want you. You’ll never regret coming with me. No one else will ever give you as pleasant a home.”</p>
 			<p>The girl sighed and looked down at her folded hands.</p>
 			<p>A sudden jealous suspicion seized Hartley.</p>
-			<p>“Tell me, Vivienne,” he asked, regarding her keenly, “is there another⁠—is there someone else ?”</p>
+			<p>“Tell me, Vivienne,” he asked, regarding her keenly, “is there another⁠—is there someone else?”</p>
 			<p>A rosy flush crept slowly over her fair cheeks and neck.</p>
 			<p>“You shouldn’t ask that, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Hartley,” she said, in some confusion. “But I will tell you. There is one other⁠—but he has no right⁠—I have promised him nothing.”</p>
 			<p>“His name?” demanded Hartley, sternly.</p>

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@@ -19,7 +19,7 @@
 			<p>“I can’t tell what you are driving at,” said the clerk. “What is it you want to know?”</p>
 			<p>“I’m gettin’ to the pint. Now there’s hair dye, Monroe docterin’, and widders. Got them all down in your mind?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, but⁠—”</p>
-			<p>“Jest hold on, now, and I’ll explain. There’s the unhappiest fat and sassy widder moved into the adiinin’ farm to me, you ever see, and if I knows the female heart she has cast eyes of longin’ upon yours truly. Now if I dyes these here white whiskers I ketches her. By blackin’ said whiskers and insertin’ say four fingers of rye where it properly belongs, I kicks up my heels and I waltzes up and salutes the widder like a calf of forty.”</p>
+			<p>“Jest hold on, now, and I’ll explain. There’s the unhappiest fat and sassy widder moved into the adjinin’ farm to me, you ever see, and if I knows the female heart she has cast eyes of longin’ upon yours truly. Now if I dyes these here white whiskers I ketches her. By blackin’ said whiskers and insertin’ say four fingers of rye where it properly belongs, I kicks up my heels and I waltzes up and salutes the widder like a calf of forty.”</p>
 			<p>“Well,” said the clerk, “our hair dye is⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Wait a minute, young feller. Now on the other hand I hears rumors of wars this mornin’, and I hears alarmin’ talk about this here Monroe docterin’. Ef I uses hair dye and trains down to thirty-eight or forty years of age, I ketches the widder, but I turns into a peart and chipper youth what is liable to be made to fight in this here great war. Ef I gives up the hair dye, the recrutin’ sargent salutes these white hairs and passes by, but I am takin’ big chances on the widder. She has been to meetin’ twicet with a man what has been divorced, and ties his own cree-vat, and this here Monroe docterin’ is all what keeps me from pulling out seventy-five cents and makin’ a strong play with said dye. What would you do, ef you was me, young feller?”</p>
 			<p>“I don’t think there will be any war soon,” said the clerk.</p>

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@@ -34,7 +34,7 @@
 			<p>“Now, little one,” said the railroad editor, “you see Jack woke up one morning and looked out of the window, and the right of way was blockaded by a bean stalk that had run a grand trunk air line that went clear up out of sight. Jack took on coal and water, and, without waiting to see if he had the track, grabbed hold and steamed off up grade without even whistling at way stations. When he got to the end of the run he found a castle as big as a union depot. So he put on brakes and⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Tan ’ou tell me de ’tory about Dack de Diant Killer?” asked the little girl.</p>
 			<p>Just then the lady came out, and the little girl jumped down and ran to her. They had a little consultation, and as they went out the door the staff heard the lady say:</p>
-			<p>“B’ess urn’s heart, muzzer will tell ums all about Jack when us gets home.”</p>
+			<p>“B’ess um’s heart, muzzer will tell ums all about Jack when us gets home.”</p>
 		</article>
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 </html>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="no-help-for-it" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">No Help for It</h2>
-			<p>John,” said a Houston grocer the other day to one of his clerks. “You have been a faithful and competent clerk, and in order to show my appreciation, I have decided to take you into partnership. From this time on you are to have a share in the business, and be a member of the firm.”</p>
+			<p>“John,” said a Houston grocer the other day to one of his clerks. “You have been a faithful and competent clerk, and in order to show my appreciation, I have decided to take you into partnership. From this time on you are to have a share in the business, and be a member of the firm.”</p>
 			<p>“But, sir,” said John anxiously, “I have a family to support. I appreciate the honor, but I fear I am too young for the responsibility. I would much rather retain my present place.”</p>
 			<p>“Can’t help it,” said the grocer. “Times are hard and I’ve got to cut down expenses if I have to take every clerk in the house into the firm.”</p>
 		</article>

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@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<article id="relieved" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Relieved</h2>
 			<p>A Houston gentleman who is worth somewhere up in the hundreds of thousands and lives on eleven dollars a week, was sitting in his private office a few days ago, when a desperate looking man entered and closed the door carefully behind him. The man had an evil, villainous-looking face, and in his hand he held with the utmost care an oblong, square-shaped package. “What do you want?” asked the capitalist.</p>
-			<p>“I must have money,” hissed the stranger. I am starving while you are rolling in wealth. Do you see this little package? Do you know what it contains?”</p>
+			<p>“I must have money,” hissed the stranger. “I am starving while you are rolling in wealth. Do you see this little package? Do you know what it contains?”</p>
 			<p>The wealthy citizen sprang from his desk in horror, pale with fright.</p>
 			<p>“No, no,” he gasped. “You would not be so cruel, so heartless.”</p>
 			<p>“This package,” continued the desperate man, “contains enough dynamite, if let fall upon the floor, to hurl this building into a shapeless mass of ruins.”</p>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="taking-no-chances" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">Taking No Chances</h2>
-			<p>Let’s see,” said the genial manager as he looked over the atlas. “Here’s a town one might strike on our way back. Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, is a city of 100,000 ininhabitants.”</p>
+			<p>“Let’s see,” said the genial manager as he looked over the atlas. “Here’s a town one might strike on our way back. Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar, is a city of 100,000 inhabitants.”</p>
 			<p>“That sounds promising,” said Mark Twain, running his hands through his busy curls, “read some more about it.”</p>
 			<p>“The people of Madagascar,” continued the genial manager, reading from his book, “are not a savage race and few of the tribes could be classed as barbarian people. There are many native orators among them, and their language abounds in figures, metaphors, and parables, and ample evidence is given of the mental ability of the inhabitants.”</p>
 			<p>“Sounds like it might be all right,” said the humorist, “read some more.”</p>

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@@ -25,7 +25,7 @@
 			<p>A flattering sentence from the report of his sermon in the morning paper came to the preacher’s mind:</p>
 			<p>“His wonderful, magnetic influence is as powerful to move the hearts of his roughest, most unlettered hearer, as it is to touch a responsive chord in the cultured brain of the man of refinement and taste.”</p>
 			<p>“And my sermon,” said the preacher, laying his delicate finger tips one against the other, and allowing the adulation even of this being to run with a slight exhilaration through his veins. “Did it awaken in you any remorse for the life of sin you have led, or bring any light of Divine pity and pardon to your soul, as He promises even unto the most degraded and wicked of creation?”</p>
-			<p>“Yer sermon, reverend?” asked the being, carrying a trembling hand to the disfiguring wounds upon his face. “Do you see them cuts and them bruises? Do you know where I got ’em? I never heard yer sermon. I got dese cuts on de rocks outside when de cop and yer usher fired me out de church. De bruised reed He will not quench, an’ de smokin’ flax He will not ’stinguish. Has you anything to say, reverend?</p>
+			<p>“Yer sermon, reverend?” asked the being, carrying a trembling hand to the disfiguring wounds upon his face. “Do you see them cuts and them bruises? Do you know where I got ’em? I never heard yer sermon. I got dese cuts on de rocks outside when de cop and yer usher fired me out de church. De bruised reed He will not quench, an’ de smokin’ flax He will not ’stinguish. Has you anything to say, reverend?”</p>
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@@ -23,7 +23,7 @@
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>“Gentlemen, I stood there holding that little piece of paper in my hand like one in a dream. I had written her a note asking her to marry me and telling her to leave her answer in the old tree. She must have done so, and I never got it, and all those years had rolled away since.”</p>
 			<p>The crowd was silent. The major wiped his eyes, and the judge sniffed a little. They were middle-aged men now, but they, too, had known love.</p>
-			<p>“And then,” said the grocer, “you left right away for Texas and never saw her again ?”</p>
+			<p>“And then,” said the grocer, “you left right away for Texas and never saw her again?”</p>
 			<p>“No,” said the colonel. “When I didn’t come round that night she sent her father after me, and we were married two months later. She and the five kids are up at the house now. Pass the tobacco, please.”</p>
 		</article>
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@@ -58,7 +58,7 @@
 			<p>“So am I,” said the detective.</p>
 			<p>“You seem to be mixed up,” said the policeman. “Do you know that lady with R⁠⸺?”</p>
 			<p>“That’s the woman he was out with.”</p>
-			<p>“That’s R⁠⸺’s wife,” said the policeman. ‘I’ve known her for fifteen years.”</p>
+			<p>“That’s R⁠⸺’s wife,” said the policeman. “I’ve known her for fifteen years.”</p>
 			<p>“Then, who⁠—?” gasped the detective, “Lord A’mighty, then who’s under the table?”</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Keeling began to kick at the door of the store. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> R⁠⸺ came forward and opened it. The policeman and the detective entered. “Look under that table, quick,” yelled the detective.</p>
 			<p>The policeman raised the cover and dragged out a blade dress, a black veil and a woman’s wig of black hair.</p>

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@@ -32,8 +32,8 @@
 			<p>“This sulky driver scratched the heel of his chin.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Just now, boss,’ says he, ‘everything’s layin’ low. There’s a tip out that Jerome’s cigarettes ain’t agreein’ with him. If it was any other time⁠—say,’ says he, like an idea struck him, ‘how’d you like to take in the all-night restaurants? Lots of electric lights, boss, and people and fun. Sometimes they laugh right out loud. Out-of-town visitors mostly visit our restaurants.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Get away,’ says I, ‘I’m beginnin’ to think your old Tenderloin is nothin’ but the butcher’s article. A little spice and infamy and audible riot is what I am after. If you can’t furnish it go back and climb on your demi-barouche. We have restaurants out West’ I tells him, ‘where we eat grub attended by artificial light and laughter. Where is the boasted badness of your unjustly vituperated city?’</p>
-			<p>“The fellow rubs his chin again. ‘Deed if I know, boss,’ says he, ‘right now. You see Jerome’⁠—and then he buds out with another idea. ‘Tell you what,’ says he, ‘be the very thing! You jump in my keb and I’ll drive you over to Brooklyn. My aunt’s giving a euchre party tonight,’ says he, ‘because Miles O’Reilly is busy, watchin’ the natatorivun⁠—somebody tipped him off it was a poolroom. Can you play euchre? The keb’ll be $3.50 an hour. Jump right in, boss.’</p>
-			<p>“That was the best I could do on the wickedest corner in New York. So I walks over where it’s more righteous, hopin’ there might be somethin’ doin’ among the Pharisees. Everything, so far as I could see, was as free from guile as a hammock at a Chautauqua picnic. The people just walked up and down, speakin’ of chrysanthemvun shows and oratorios, and enjoyin’ the misbegotten reputation of bein’ the wickedest rakes on the continent.”</p>
+			<p>“The fellow rubs his chin again. ‘Deed if I know, boss,’ says he, ‘right now. You see Jerome’⁠—and then he buds out with another idea. ‘Tell you what,’ says he, ‘be the very thing! You jump in my keb and I’ll drive you over to Brooklyn. My aunt’s giving a euchre party tonight,’ says he, ‘because Miles O’Reilly is busy, watchin’ the natatorium⁠—somebody tipped him off it was a poolroom. Can you play euchre? The keb’ll be $3.50 an hour. Jump right in, boss.’</p>
+			<p>“That was the best I could do on the wickedest corner in New York. So I walks over where it’s more righteous, hopin’ there might be somethin’ doin’ among the Pharisees. Everything, so far as I could see, was as free from guile as a hammock at a Chautauqua picnic. The people just walked up and down, speakin’ of chrysanthemum shows and oratorios, and enjoyin’ the misbegotten reputation of bein’ the wickedest rakes on the continent.”</p>
 			<p>“It’s too bad. Bill.” I said, “that you were disappointed in the Tenderloin. Didn’t you have a chance to spend any of your money?”</p>
 			<p>“Oh, yes,” said Bill. “I managed to drop one dollar over on the edge of the sinful district. I was goin’ along down a boulevard when I hears an awful hollerin’ and fussin’ that sounded good⁠—it reminded me of a real enjoyable roughhouse out West. Some fellow was quarrelin’ at the top of his voice, usin’ cuss words, and callin’ down all kinds of damnation about somethin’.</p>
 			<p>“The sounds come out through a big door in a high buildin’ and I went in to see the fun. Thinks I, I’ll get a small slice of this here Tenderloin anyhow. Well, I went in, and that’s where I dropped the dollar. They came around and collected it.”</p>

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@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 	<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
 		<article id="the-old-landmark" epub:type="se:short-story">
 			<h2 epub:type="title">The Old Landmark</h2>
-			<p>He was old and feeble and his sands of life were nearly run out. He walked with faltering steps along one of the most fashionable avenues in the city of Houston. He had left the city twenty years ago, when it was little more than a thriving village, and now, weary of wandering through the world and filled with an unutterable longing to rest his eyes once more upon the scenes of his youth, he had come back to find a bustling modem city covering the site of his former home. He sought in vain for some familiar object, some old time sight that would recall memories of bygone days. All had changed. On the site where his father’s cottage had stood, a stately mansion reared its walls; the vacant lot where he had played when a boy, was covered with modem buildings. Magnificent lawns stretched on either hand, running back to palatial dwellings. Not one of the sights of his boyhood days was left.</p>
+			<p>He was old and feeble and his sands of life were nearly run out. He walked with faltering steps along one of the most fashionable avenues in the city of Houston. He had left the city twenty years ago, when it was little more than a thriving village, and now, weary of wandering through the world and filled with an unutterable longing to rest his eyes once more upon the scenes of his youth, he had come back to find a bustling modern city covering the site of his former home. He sought in vain for some familiar object, some old time sight that would recall memories of bygone days. All had changed. On the site where his father’s cottage had stood, a stately mansion reared its walls; the vacant lot where he had played when a boy, was covered with modern buildings. Magnificent lawns stretched on either hand, running back to palatial dwellings. Not one of the sights of his boyhood days was left.</p>
 			<p>Suddenly, with a glad cry, he rushed forward with renewed vigor. He saw before him, untouched by the hand of man and unchanged by time, an old familiar object around which he had played when a child. He reached out his arms and ran toward it with a deep sigh of satisfaction.</p>
 			<p>Later on they found him asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face, lying on the old garbage pile in the middle of the street, the sole relic of his boyhood’s recollections.</p>
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@@ -28,7 +28,7 @@
 			<p>“Maria,” gasped the bewildered man. “I swear I⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Don’t add perjury to your crimes, sir!”</p>
 			<p>The man tried unsuccessfully to speak three or four times, and then grabbed his hat and ran downtown. Fifteen minutes later he came back bringing two new silk dress patterns, four pounds of caramels, and his bookkeeper and three clerks to prove that he was hard at work in the store on the night in question.</p>
-			<p>The affair was finally settled satisfactorily, hut there is one Houston man who has no further curiosity about woman’s curiosity.</p>
+			<p>The affair was finally settled satisfactorily, but there is one Houston man who has no further curiosity about woman’s curiosity.</p>
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@@ -31,7 +31,7 @@
 			<p>“Hear that!” shouted the fat man. “Says he’s got to work. Ha⁠—ha⁠—ha⁠—ha⁠—ha!”</p>
 			<p>The whole crowd gave a parting roar of laughter as the solemn man walked to the door. He stopped for a moment and said: “Had a very (hic) pleasant evening (hic) gents. Hope’ll shee you (hic) ’n mornin’. Here’sh my card. Goo’ night.”</p>
 			<p>The fat man seized the card and shook the solemn man’s hand. When he had gone, he glanced at the card, and his face took on a serious frown.</p>
-			<p>Gentlemen,” he said, “you all know who our friend is that we have been entertaining, don’t you?”</p>
+			<p>“Gentlemen,” he said, “you all know who our friend is that we have been entertaining, don’t you?”</p>
 			<p>“Of course; you said it was Alex Sweet, the ‘Texas Siftings’ man.”</p>
 			<p>“So I understood,” said the fat man. “The hotel clerk said it was Alex Sweet.”</p>
 			<p>He handed them the card and skipped out the side door. The card read:</p>

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@@ -18,24 +18,24 @@
 			<p>“I’ve heard of this fellow Conlan before. Why does he interfere? Why does he stand in the way? Is there anything between him and Katie? Does Katie care for him?”</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Flynn gave a sigh, like a puff of a locomotive, and a flap upon the washboard with a sodden garment that sent Holcombe, well splashed, six feet away.</p>
 			<p>“Ask me no questions about what’s in a gyurl’s heart and I’ll tell ye no lies. Her own mither can’t tell any more than yerself, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Holcombe.”</p>
-			<p>Holcombe stepped inside the cottage. Katie Flynn, with rolled-up sleeves, was ironing a dress of flounced muslin. Criticism of Holcombe’s deviation from his own sphere to this star of lower orbit must have waned at the sight of the girl. Her beauty was of the most solvent and convincing sort. Dusky Irish eyes, one great braid of jetty, shining hair, a crimson mouth, dimpling and shaping itself to every mood of its owner, a figure strong and graceful, seemingly fiill of imperishable life and action⁠—Katie Flynn was one to be sought after and striven for.</p>
+			<p>Holcombe stepped inside the cottage. Katie Flynn, with rolled-up sleeves, was ironing a dress of flounced muslin. Criticism of Holcombe’s deviation from his own sphere to this star of lower orbit must have waned at the sight of the girl. Her beauty was of the most solvent and convincing sort. Dusky Irish eyes, one great braid of jetty, shining hair, a crimson mouth, dimpling and shaping itself to every mood of its owner, a figure strong and graceful, seemingly full of imperishable life and action⁠—Katie Flynn was one to be sought after and striven for.</p>
 			<p>Holcombe went and stood by her side as she ironed, and watched the lithe play of muscles rolling beneath the satiny skin of her rounded forearms.</p>
 			<p>“Katie,” he said, his voice concealing a certain anxiety beneath a wooing tenderness, “I have come for my answer. It isn’t necessary to repeat what we have talked over so often, but you know how anxious I am to have you. You know my circumstances and position, and that you will have every comfort and every privilege that you could ask for. Say ‘Yes,’ Katie, and I’ll be the luckiest man in this town today.”</p>
 			<p>Kate set her iron down with a metallic click, and leaned her elbows upon the ironing board. Her great blue-black eyes went, in their Irish way, from sparkling fun to thoughtful melancholy.</p>
 			<p>“Oh, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Holcombe, I don’t know what to say. I know you’d be kind to me, and give me the best home I could ever expect. I’d like to say ‘yes’⁠—indeed I would. I’d about decided to tell you so, but there’s Danny⁠—he objects so.”</p>
 			<p>Danny again! Holcombe strode up and down the room impatiently frowning.</p>
-			<p>“Who is this fellow Conlan, Katie?” he asked. “Every time I nearly get your consent he comes between us. Does he want you to live always in this cottage for the convenience of his mightiness? Why do you listen to him ?”</p>
+			<p>“Who is this fellow Conlan, Katie?” he asked. “Every time I nearly get your consent he comes between us. Does he want you to live always in this cottage for the convenience of his mightiness? Why do you listen to him?”</p>
 			<p>“He wants me,” said Katie, in the voice of a small, spoiled child.</p>
 			<p>“Well, I want you too,” said Holcombe, masterfully. “If I could see this wonderful <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Conlan, of the persuasive tongue, I’d argue the matter with him.”</p>
 			<p>“He’s been the champion middleweight fighter of this town,” said Katie, a bit mischievously.</p>
 			<p>“Oh, has he! Well, that doesn’t frighten me, Katie. In fact, I am not sure but what I’d tackle him a few rounds myself, with you for the prize; although I’m somewhat rusty with the gloves.”</p>
 			<p>“Whist! there he comes now,” exclaimed Katie, her eyes widening a little with apprehension.</p>
 			<p>Holcombe looked out the door and saw a young man coming up from the gate. He walked with an easy swagger. His face was smooth and truculent, but not bad. He wore a cap pulled down to one eye. He walked inside the house and stopped at the door of the room in which stood his rival and the bone of contention.</p>
-			<p>“You’re after my girl again, are you?” be grumbled, huskily and ominously. “I don’t like it, do you see? I’ve told her so, and I tell you so. She stays here. For ten cents I’d knock your block off. Do you see?”</p>
-			<p>“Now <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Conlan,” began Holcombe, striving to avoid the argumentum ad hominemy “listen to reason. It is only fair to let Katie choose for herself. Is it quite the square thing to try to prevent her from doing what she prefers to do? If it had not been for your interference I would have had her long ago.”</p>
+			<p>“You’re after my girl again, are you?” he grumbled, huskily and ominously. “I don’t like it, do you see? I’ve told her so, and I tell you so. She stays here. For ten cents I’d knock your block off. Do you see?”</p>
+			<p>“Now <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Conlan,” began Holcombe, striving to avoid the <i xml:lang="la">argumentum ad hominem</i>, “listen to reason. It is only fair to let Katie choose for herself. Is it quite the square thing to try to prevent her from doing what she prefers to do? If it had not been for your interference I would have had her long ago.”</p>
 			<p>“For five cents,” pursued the unmoved <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Conlan, lowering his terms, “I’d knock your block off.”</p>
 			<p>Into Holcombe’s eye there came the light of desperate resolve. He saw but one way to clear the obstacle from his path.</p>
-			<p>“I am told,” he said quietly and firmly, “that you are a fighter. Your mind seems to dwell upion physical combat as the solution to all questions. Now, Conlan, I’m no scrapper, but I’ll fight you to a finish any time within the next three minutes to see who gets the girl. If I win she goes with me. If you win you have your way, and I’ll not trouble her again. Are you game?”</p>
+			<p>“I am told,” he said quietly and firmly, “that you are a fighter. Your mind seems to dwell upon physical combat as the solution to all questions. Now, Conlan, I’m no scrapper, but I’ll fight you to a finish any time within the next three minutes to see who gets the girl. If I win she goes with me. If you win you have your way, and I’ll not trouble her again. Are you game?”</p>
 			<p>Danny Conlan’s hard, blue eyes looked a sudden admiration.</p>
 			<p>“You’re all right,” he conceded with gruff candour. “I didn’t think you was that sort. You’re all right. It’s a dead fair sporting <abbr>prop.</abbr>, and I’m your company. I’ll stand by the results according to terms. Come on, and I’ll show you where it can be pulled off. You’re all right.”</p>
 			<p>Katie tried to interfere, but Danny silenced her. He led Holcombe down the hill to a deep gully that sheltered them from view. Night was just closing in upon the twilight. They laid aside their coats and hats. Here was a situation in the methodical existence of Lawrence Holcombe, real estate and bond broker, representative business man of unquestionable habits and social position! Fighting with a professional tough in a gully in a squalid settlement for the daughter of an Irish washerwoman!</p>