Tweak footer CSS

src/epub/css/local.css

@@ -127,7 +127,7 @@ p span.i3{
 	font-variant: small-caps;
 }
 
-[epub|type~="z3998:letter"] footer{
+footer{
 	margin-top: 1em;
 	text-align: right;
 }

src/epub/text/fox-in-the-morning.xhtml

@@ -17,7 +17,7 @@
 			<p>“Hurry up,” shouted Keogh. “There’s a riot in town on account of a telegram that’s come for you. You want to be careful about these things, my boy. It won’t do to trifle with the feelings of the public this way. You’ll be getting a pink note some day with violet scent on it; and then the country’ll be steeped in the throes of a revolution.”</p>
 			<p>Goodwin had strolled up the street and met the boy with the message. The ox-eyed women gazed at him with shy admiration, for his type drew them. He was big, blonde, and jauntily dressed in white linen, with buckskin <i xml:lang="es">zapatos</i>. His manner was courtly, with a sort of kindly truculence in it, tempered by a merciful eye. When the telegram had been delivered, and the bearer of it dismissed with a gratuity, the relieved populace returned to the contiguities of shade from which curiosity had drawn it⁠—the women to their baking in the mud ovens under the orange-trees, or to the interminable combing of their long, straight hair; the men to their cigarettes and gossip in the cantinas.</p>
 			<p>Goodwin sat on Keogh’s doorstep, and read his telegram. It was from Bob Englehart, an American, who lived in San Mateo, the capital city of Anchuria, eighty miles in the interior. Englehart was a gold miner, an ardent revolutionist and “good people.” That he was a man of resource and imagination was proven by the telegram he had sent. It had been his task to send a confidential message to his friend in Coralio. This could not have been accomplished in either Spanish or English, for the eye politic in Anchuria was an active one. The Ins and the Outs were perpetually on their guard. But Englehart was a diplomatist. There existed but one code upon which he might make requisition with promise of safety⁠—the great and potent code of Slang. So, here is the message that slipped, unconstrued, through the fingers of curious officials, and came to the eye of Goodwin:</p>
-			<blockquote>
+			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<p>His Nibs skedaddled yesterday per jackrabbit line with all the coin in the kitty and the bundle of muslin he’s spoony about. The boodle is six figures short. Our crowd in good shape, but we need the spondulicks. You collar it. The main guy and the dry goods are headed for the briny. You know what to do.</p>
 				<footer>
 					<p epub:type="z3998:signature z3998:sender">Bob</p>

src/epub/text/friends-in-san-rosario.xhtml

@@ -103,7 +103,7 @@
 					<p epub:type="z3998:valediction">Your Old Pard,</p>
 					<p epub:type="z3998:signature">Bob Buckley</p>
 					<p>
-						<i>Prest. Stockmen’s National</i>
+						<i><abbr>Prest.</abbr> Stockmen’s National</i>
 					</p>
 				</footer>
 			</blockquote>

src/epub/text/the-duel.xhtml

@@ -29,7 +29,7 @@
 			<p>At midnight Jack raised his window and sat close to it. He caught his breath at what he saw, though he had seen and felt it a hundred times.</p>
 			<p>Far below and around lay the city like a ragged purple dream. The irregular houses were like the broken exteriors of cliffs lining deep gulches and winding streams. Some were mountainous; some lay in long, desert canyons. Such was the background of the wonderful, cruel, enchanting, bewildering, fatal, great city. But into this background were cut myriads of brilliant parallelograms and circles and squares through which glowed many colored lights. And out of the violet and purple depths ascended like the city’s soul sounds and odors and thrills that make up the civic body. There arose the breath of gaiety unrestrained, of love, of hate, of all the passions that man can know. There below him lay all things, good or bad, that can be brought from the four corners of the earth to instruct, please, thrill, enrich, despoil, elevate, cast down, nurture or kill. Thus the flavor of it came up to him and went into his blood.</p>
 			<p>There was a knock on his door. A telegram had come for him. It came from the West, and these were its words:</p>
-			<blockquote>
+			<blockquote epub:type="z3998:letter">
 				<p>
 					<b>Come back and the answer will be yes.</b>
 				</p>

src/epub/text/the-exact-science-of-matrimony.xhtml

@@ -17,7 +17,7 @@
 				<p>“Charming widow, beautiful, home loving, 32 years, possessing $3,000 cash and owning valuable country property, would remarry. Would prefer a poor man with affectionate disposition to one with means, as she realizes that the solid virtues are oftenest to be found in the humble walks of life. No objection to elderly man or one of homely appearance if faithful and true and competent to manage property and invest money with judgment. Address, with particulars.</p>
 				<footer>
 					<p>Lonely,</p>
-					<p epub:type="z3998:signature">Care of Peters &amp; Tucker, agents, Cairo, Ill.</p>
+					<p epub:type="z3998:signature">Care of Peters &amp; Tucker, agents, Cairo, <abbr class="postal eoc">Ill.</abbr></p>
 				</footer>
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>“ ‘So far, so pernicious,’ says I, when we had finished the literary concoction. ‘And now,’ says I, ‘where is the lady.’</p>