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Alex Cabal 2021-07-27 19:47:47 -05:00
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src/epub/text/cupid-a-la-carte.xhtml
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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" epub:prefix="z3998: http://www.daisy.org/z3998/2012/vocab/structure/, se: https://standardebooks.org/vocab/1.0" xml:lang="en-US">
<head>
<title>Cupid a La Carte</title>
<title>Cupid à la Carte</title>
<link href="../css/core.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/>
<link href="../css/local.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/>
</head>
<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<article id="cupid-a-la-carte" epub:type="se:short-story">
<h2 epub:type="title">Cupid a La Carte</h2>
<h2 epub:type="title">Cupid à la Carte</h2>
<p>“The dispositions of woman,” said Jeff Peters, after various opinions on the subject had been advanced, “run, regular, to diversions. What a woman wants is what you’re out of. She wants more of a thing when it’s scarce. She likes to have souvenirs of things that never happened. She likes to be reminded of things she never heard of. A one-sided view of objects is disjointing to the female composition.</p>
<p>“ ’Tis a misfortune of mine, begotten by nature and travel,” continued Jeff, looking thoughtfully between his elevated feet at the grocery stove, “to look deeper into some subjects than most people do. I’ve breathed gasoline smoke talking to street crowds in nearly every town in the United States. I’ve held ’em spellbound with music, oratory, sleight of hand, and prevarications, while I’ve sold ’em jewelry, medicine, soap, hair tonic, and junk of other nominations. And during my travels, as a matter of recreation and expiation, I’ve taken cognisance some of women. It takes a man a lifetime to find out about one particular woman; but if he puts in, say, ten years, industrious and curious, he can acquire the general rudiments of the sex. One lesson I picked up was when I was working the West with a line of Brazilian diamonds and a patent fire kindler just after my trip from Savannah down through the cotton belt with Dalby’s Anti-explosive Lamp Oil Powder. ’Twas when the Oklahoma country was in first bloom. Guthrie was rising in the middle of it like a lump of self-raising dough. It was a boom town of the regular kind⁠—you stood in line to get a chance to wash your face; if you ate over ten minutes you had a lodging bill added on; if you slept on a plank at night they charged it to you as board the next morning.</p>
<p>“By nature and doctrines I am addicted to the habit of discovering choice places wherein to feed. So I looked around and found a proposition that exactly cut the mustard. I found a restaurant tent just opened up by an outfit that had drifted in on the tail of the boom. They had knocked together a box house, where they lived and did the cooking, and served the meals in a tent pitched against the side. That tent was joyful with placards on it calculated to redeem the world-worn pilgrim from the sinfulness of boarding houses and pick-me-up hotels. ‘Try Mother’s Homemade Biscuits,’ ‘What’s the Matter with Our Apple Dumplings and Hard Sauce?’ ‘Hot Cakes and Maple Syrup Like You Ate When a Boy,’ ‘Our Fried Chicken Never Was Heard to Crow’⁠—there was literature doomed to please the digestions of man! I said to myself that mother’s wandering boy should munch there that night. And so it came to pass. And there is where I contracted my case of Mame Dugan.</p>

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src/epub/text/springtime-a-la-carte.xhtml
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<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" epub:prefix="z3998: http://www.daisy.org/z3998/2012/vocab/structure/, se: https://standardebooks.org/vocab/1.0" xml:lang="en-US">
<head>
<title>Springtime à La Carte</title>
<title>Springtime à la Carte</title>
<link href="../css/core.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/>
<link href="../css/local.css" rel="stylesheet" type="text/css"/>
</head>
<body epub:type="bodymatter z3998:fiction">
<article id="springtime-a-la-carte" epub:type="se:short-story">
<h2 epub:type="title">Springtime à La Carte</h2>
<h2 epub:type="title">Springtime à la Carte</h2>
<p>It was a day in March.</p>
<p>Never, never begin a story this way when you write one. No opening could possibly be worse. It is unimaginative, flat, dry and likely to consist of mere wind. But in this instance it is allowable. For the following paragraph, which should have inaugurated the narrative, is too wildly extravagant and preposterous to be flaunted in the face of the reader without preparation.</p>
<p>Sarah was crying over her bill of fare.</p>

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src/epub/toc.xhtml
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<a href="text/a-professional-secret.xhtml">A Professional Secret</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/cupid-a-la-carte.xhtml">Cupid a La Carte</a>
<a href="text/cupid-a-la-carte.xhtml">Cupid à la Carte</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/a-departmental-case.xhtml">A Departmental Case</a>
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<a href="text/the-red-roses-of-tonia.xhtml">The Red Roses of Tonia</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/springtime-a-la-carte.xhtml">Springtime à La Carte</a>
<a href="text/springtime-a-la-carte.xhtml">Springtime à la Carte</a>
</li>
<li>
<a href="text/between-rounds.xhtml">Between Rounds</a>