[Roads] [Editorial] every one -> everyone

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 			<p>After breakfast quite a family party went downtown together⁠—<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel’s married sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. They came by the hotel where Jimmy still boarded, and he ran up to his room and brought along his suitcase. Then they went on to the bank. There stood Jimmy’s horse and buggy and Dolph Gibson, who was going to drive him over to the railroad station.</p>
 			<p>All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the banking-room⁠—Jimmy included, for <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams’s future son-in-law was welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by the good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry Miss Annabel. Jimmy set his suitcase down. Annabel, whose heart was bubbling with happiness and lively youth, put on Jimmy’s hat, and picked up the suitcase. “Wouldn’t I make a nice drummer?” said Annabel. “My! Ralph, how heavy it is? Feels like it was full of gold bricks.”</p>
 			<p>“Lot of nickel-plated shoehorns in there,” said Jimmy, coolly, “that I’m going to return. Thought I’d save express charges by taking them up. I’m getting awfully economical.”</p>
-			<p>The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every one. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams beamingly explained its workings to <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The two children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shining metal and funny clock and knobs.</p>
+			<p>The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by everyone. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams beamingly explained its workings to <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Spencer, who showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The two children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shining metal and funny clock and knobs.</p>
 			<p>While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He told the teller that he didn’t want anything; he was just waiting for a man he knew.</p>
 			<p>Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a commotion. Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old girl, in a spirit of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination as she had seen <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Adams do.</p>
 			<p>The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a moment. “The door can’t be opened,” he groaned. “The clock hasn’t been wound nor the combination set.”</p>

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 			<p>Perry Dorsey, the teller, was already arranging his cash on the counter for the examiner’s inspection. He knew it was right to a cent, and he had nothing to fear, but he was nervous and flustered. So was every man in the bank. There was something so icy and swift, so impersonal and uncompromising about this man that his very presence seemed an accusation. He looked to be a man who would never make nor overlook an error.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Nettlewick first seized the currency, and with a rapid, almost juggling motion, counted it by packages. Then he spun the sponge cup toward him and verified the count by bills. His thin, white fingers flew like some expert musician’s upon the keys of a piano. He dumped the gold upon the counter with a crash, and the coins whined and sang as they skimmed across the marble slab from the tips of his nimble digits. The air was full of fractional currency when he came to the halves and quarters. He counted the last nickle and dime. He had the scales brought, and he weighed every sack of silver in the vault. He questioned Dorsey concerning each of the cash memoranda⁠—certain checks, charge slips, <abbr>etc.</abbr>, carried over from the previous day’s work⁠—with unimpeachable courtesy, yet with something so mysteriously momentous in his frigid manner, that the teller was reduced to pink cheeks and a stammering tongue.</p>
 			<p>This newly-imported examiner was so different from Sam Turner. It had been Sam’s way to enter the bank with a shout, pass the cigars, and tell the latest stories he had picked up on his rounds. His customary greeting to Dorsey had been, “Hello, Perry! Haven’t skipped out with the boodle yet, I see.” Turner’s way of counting the cash had been different, too. He would finger the packages of bills in a tired kind of way, and then go into the vault and kick over a few sacks of silver, and the thing was done. Halves and quarters and dimes? Not for Sam Turner. “No chicken feed for me,” he would say when they were set before him. “I’m not in the agricultural department.” But, then, Turner was a Texan, an old friend of the bank’s president, and had known Dorsey since he was a baby.</p>
-			<p>While the examiner was counting the cash, Major Thomas B. Kingman⁠—known to every one as “Major Tom”⁠—the president of the First National, drove up to the side door with his old dun horse and buggy, and came inside. He saw the examiner busy with the money, and, going into the little “pony corral,” as he called it, in which his desk was railed off, he began to look over his letters.</p>
+			<p>While the examiner was counting the cash, Major Thomas B. Kingman⁠—known to everyone as “Major Tom”⁠—the president of the First National, drove up to the side door with his old dun horse and buggy, and came inside. He saw the examiner busy with the money, and, going into the little “pony corral,” as he called it, in which his desk was railed off, he began to look over his letters.</p>
 			<p>Earlier, a little incident had occurred that even the sharp eyes of the examiner had failed to notice. When he had begun his work at the cash counter, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Edlinger had winked significantly at Roy Wilson, the youthful bank messenger, and nodded his head slightly toward the front door. Roy understood, got his hat, and walked leisurely out, with his collector’s book under his arm. Once outside, he made a beeline for the Stockmen’s National. That bank was also getting ready to open. No customers had, as yet, presented themselves.</p>
 			<p>“Say, you people!” cried Roy, with the familiarity of youth and long acquaintance, “you want to get a move on you. There’s a new bank examiner over at the First, and he’s a stem-winder. He’s counting nickles on Perry, and he’s got the whole outfit bluffed. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Edlinger gave me the tip to let you know.”</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Buckley, president of the Stockmen’s National⁠—a stout, elderly man, looking like a farmer dressed for Sunday⁠—heard Roy from his private office at the rear and called him.</p>

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 		<section id="chapter-2" epub:type="chapter">
 			<h2>THE GUARDIAN OF THE ACCOLADE</h2>
 			<p>Not the least important of the force of the Weymouth Bank was Uncle Bushrod. Sixty years had Uncle Bushrod given of faithful service to the house of Weymouth as chattel, servitor, and friend. Of the colour of the mahogany bank furniture was Uncle Bushrod⁠—thus dark was he externally; white as the uninked pages of the bank ledgers was his soul. Eminently pleasing to Uncle Bushrod would the comparison have been; for to him the only institution in existence worth considering was the Weymouth Bank, of which he was something between porter and generalissimo-in-charge.</p>
-			<p>Weymouth lay, dreamy and umbrageous, among the low foothills along the brow of a Southern valley. Three banks there were in Weymouthville. Two were hopeless, misguided enterprises, lacking the presence and prestige of a Weymouth to give them glory. The third was The Bank, managed by the Weymouths⁠—and Uncle Bushrod. In the old Weymouth homestead⁠—the red brick, white-porticoed mansion, the first to your right as you crossed Elder Creek, coming into town⁠—lived <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert Weymouth (the president of the bank), his widowed daughter, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Vesey⁠—called “Miss Letty” by every one⁠—and her two children, Nan and Guy. There, also in a cottage on the grounds, resided Uncle Bushrod and Aunt Malindy, his wife. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William Weymouth (the cashier of the bank) lived in a modern, fine house on the principal avenue.</p>
+			<p>Weymouth lay, dreamy and umbrageous, among the low foothills along the brow of a Southern valley. Three banks there were in Weymouthville. Two were hopeless, misguided enterprises, lacking the presence and prestige of a Weymouth to give them glory. The third was The Bank, managed by the Weymouths⁠—and Uncle Bushrod. In the old Weymouth homestead⁠—the red brick, white-porticoed mansion, the first to your right as you crossed Elder Creek, coming into town⁠—lived <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert Weymouth (the president of the bank), his widowed daughter, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Vesey⁠—called “Miss Letty” by everyone⁠—and her two children, Nan and Guy. There, also in a cottage on the grounds, resided Uncle Bushrod and Aunt Malindy, his wife. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William Weymouth (the cashier of the bank) lived in a modern, fine house on the principal avenue.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert was a large, stout man, sixty-two years of age, with a smooth, plump face, long iron-gray hair and fiery blue eyes. He was high-tempered, kind, and generous, with a youthful smile and a formidable, stern voice that did not always mean what it sounded like. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William was a milder man, correct in deportment and absorbed in business. The Weymouths formed The Family of Weymouthville, and were looked up to, as was their right of heritage.</p>
 			<p>Uncle Bushrod was the bank’s trusted porter, messenger, vassal, and guardian. He carried a key to the vault, just as <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert and <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William did. Sometimes there was ten, fifteen, or twenty thousand dollars in sacked silver stacked on the vault floor. It was safe with Uncle Bushrod. He was a Weymouth in heart, honesty, and pride.</p>
-			<p>Of late Uncle Bushrod had not been without worry. It was on account of Marse Robert. For nearly a year <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert had been known to indulge in too much drink. Not enough, understand, to become tipsy, but the habit was getting a hold upon him, and every one was beginning to notice it. Half a dozen times a day he would leave the bank and step around to the Merchants and Planters’ Hotel to take a drink. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert’s usual keen judgment and business capacity became a little impaired. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William, a Weymouth, but not so rich in experience, tried to dam the inevitable backflow of the tide, but with incomplete success. The deposits in the Weymouth Bank dropped from six figures to five. Past-due paper began to accumulate, owing to injudicious loans. No one cared to address <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert on the subject of temperance. Many of his friends said that the cause of it had been the death of his wife some two years before. Others hesitated on account of <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert’s quick temper, which was extremely apt to resent personal interference of such a nature. Miss Letty and the children noticed the change and grieved about it. Uncle Bushrod also worried, but he was one of those who would not have dared to remonstrate, although he and Marse Robert had been raised almost as companions. But there was a heavier shock coming to Uncle Bushrod than that caused by the bank president’s toddies and juleps.</p>
+			<p>Of late Uncle Bushrod had not been without worry. It was on account of Marse Robert. For nearly a year <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert had been known to indulge in too much drink. Not enough, understand, to become tipsy, but the habit was getting a hold upon him, and everyone was beginning to notice it. Half a dozen times a day he would leave the bank and step around to the Merchants and Planters’ Hotel to take a drink. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert’s usual keen judgment and business capacity became a little impaired. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> William, a Weymouth, but not so rich in experience, tried to dam the inevitable backflow of the tide, but with incomplete success. The deposits in the Weymouth Bank dropped from six figures to five. Past-due paper began to accumulate, owing to injudicious loans. No one cared to address <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert on the subject of temperance. Many of his friends said that the cause of it had been the death of his wife some two years before. Others hesitated on account of <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert’s quick temper, which was extremely apt to resent personal interference of such a nature. Miss Letty and the children noticed the change and grieved about it. Uncle Bushrod also worried, but he was one of those who would not have dared to remonstrate, although he and Marse Robert had been raised almost as companions. But there was a heavier shock coming to Uncle Bushrod than that caused by the bank president’s toddies and juleps.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert had a passion for fishing, which he usually indulged whenever the season and business permitted. One day, when reports had been coming in relating to the bass and perch, he announced his intention of making a two or three days’ visit to the lakes. He was going down, he said, to Reedy Lake with Judge Archinard, an old friend.</p>
 			<p>Now, Uncle Bushrod was treasurer of the Sons and Daughters of the Burning Bush. Every association he belonged to made him treasurer without hesitation. He stood AA1 in coloured circles. He was understood among them to be <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Bushrod Weymouth, of the Weymouth Bank.</p>
 			<p>The night following the day on which <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Robert mentioned his intended fishing-trip the old man woke up and rose from his bed at twelve o’clock, declaring he must go down to the bank and fetch the passbook of the Sons and Daughters, which he had forgotten to bring home. The bookkeeper had balanced it for him that day, put the cancelled checks in it, and snapped two elastic bands around it. He put but one band around other passbooks.</p>