Proofreading corrections

src/epub/text/a-departmental-case.xhtml

@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@
 			<p>In the year 188⁠–⁠⁠–⁠, the governor appointed Luke Coonrod Standifer to be the head of this department. Standifer was then fifty-five years of age, and a Texan to the core. His father had been one of the state’s earliest settlers and pioneers. Standifer himself had served the commonwealth as Indian fighter, soldier, ranger, and legislator. Much learning he did not claim, but he had drank pretty deep of the spring of experience.</p>
 			<p>If other grounds were less abundant, Texas should be well up in the lists of glory as the grateful republic. For both as republic and state, it has busily heaped honours and solid rewards upon its sons who rescued it from the wilderness.</p>
 			<p>Wherefore and therefore, Luke Coonrod Standifer, son of Ezra Standifer, ex-Terry ranger, simon-pure democrat, and lucky dweller in an unrepresented portion of the politico-geographical map, was appointed Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History.</p>
-			<p>Standifer accepted the honour with some doubt as to the nature of the office he was to fill and his capacity for filling it⁠—but he accepted, and by wire. He immediately set out from the little country town where he maintained (and was scarcely maintained by) a somnolent and unfruitful office of surveying and map-drawing. Before departing, he had looked up under the I’s, S’s and H’s in the “Encyclopædia Britannica” what information and preparation toward his official duties that those weighty volumes afforded.</p>
+			<p>Standifer accepted the honour with some doubt as to the nature of the office he was to fill and his capacity for filling it⁠—but he accepted, and by wire. He immediately set out from the little country town where he maintained (and was scarcely maintained by) a somnolent and unfruitful office of surveying and map-drawing. Before departing, he had looked up under the <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">I</i>’s, <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">S</i>’s and <i epub:type="z3998:grapheme">H</i>’s in the “Encyclopædia Britannica” what information and preparation toward his official duties that those weighty volumes afforded.</p>
 			<p>A few weeks of incumbency diminished the new commissioner’s awe of the great and important office he had been called upon to conduct. An increasing familiarity with its workings soon restored him to his accustomed placid course of life. In his office was an old, spectacled clerk⁠—a consecrated, informed, able machine, who held his desk regardless of changes of administrative heads. Old Kauffman instructed his new chief gradually in the knowledge of the department without seeming to do so, and kept the wheels revolving without the slip of a cog.</p>
 			<p>Indeed, the Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History carried no great heft of the burden of state. Its main work was the regulating of the business done in the state by foreign insurance companies, and the letter of the law was its guide. As for statistics⁠—well, you wrote letters to county officers, and scissored other people’s reports, and each year you got out a report of your own about the corn crop and the cotton crop and pecans and pigs and black and white population, and a great many columns of figures headed “bushels” and “acres” and “square miles,” <abbr>etc.</abbr>⁠—and there you were. History? The branch was purely a receptive one. Old ladies interested in the science bothered you some with long reports of proceedings of their historical societies. Some twenty or thirty people would write you each year that they had secured Sam Houston’s pocketknife or Santa Ana’s whisky-flask or Davy Crockett’s rifle⁠—all absolutely authenticated⁠—and demanded legislative appropriation to purchase. Most of the work in the history branch went into pigeonholes.</p>
 			<p>One sizzling August afternoon the commissioner reclined in his office chair, with his feet upon the long, official table covered with green billiard cloth. The commissioner was smoking a cigar, and dreamily regarding the quivering landscape framed by the window that looked upon the treeless capitol grounds. Perhaps he was thinking of the rough and ready life he had led, of the old days of breathless adventure and movement, of the comrades who now trod other paths or had ceased to tread any, of the changes civilization and peace had brought, and, maybe, complacently, of the snug and comfortable camp pitched for him under the dome of the capitol of the state that had not forgotten his services.</p>

src/epub/text/board-and-ancestors.xhtml

@@ -11,9 +11,9 @@
 			<p>The snake reporter of the Post was wending his way homeward last night when he was approached by a very gaunt, hungry-looking man with wild eyes and an emaciated face.</p>
 			<p>“Can you tell me, sir,” he inquired, “where I can find in Houston a family of lowborn scrubs?”</p>
 			<p>“I don’t exactly understand,” said the reporter.</p>
-			<p>“Let me tell you how it is,” said the emaciated man. “I came to Houston a month ago, and I hunted up a boarding house, as I can not afford to live at a hotel. I found a nice, aristocraticlooking place that suited me, and went inside. The landlady came in the parlor and she was a very stately lady with a Roman nose. I asked the price of board, and she said: ‘Eighty dollars per month.’ I fell against the door jamb with a dull thud, and she said:</p>
+			<p>“Let me tell you how it is,” said the emaciated man. “I came to Houston a month ago, and I hunted up a boarding house, as I can not afford to live at a hotel. I found a nice, aristocratic-looking place that suited me, and went inside. The landlady came in the parlor and she was a very stately lady with a Roman nose. I asked the price of board, and she said: ‘Eighty dollars per month.’ I fell against the door jamb with a dull thud, and she said:</p>
 			<p>“ ‘You seem surprised, sah. You will please remember that I am the widow of Governah Riddle of Virginia. My family is very highly connected; give you board as a favah; I never consider money an equivalent to advantage of my society. Will you have a room with a door in it?’</p>
-			<p>“ Til call again/ I said, and got out of the house, somehow, and went to another fine, threestoried house, with a sign ‘Board and Rooms’ on it.</p>
+			<p>“ ‘I’ll call again,’ I said, and got out of the house, somehow, and went to another fine, three-storied house, with a sign ‘Board and Rooms’ on it.</p>
 			<p>“The next lady I saw had gray curls, and a soft gazelle-like eye. She was a cousin of General Mahone of Virginia and wanted $16 per week for a little back room with a pink motto and a picture of the battle of Chancellorsville in it.</p>
 			<p>“I went to some more boarding houses.</p>
 			<p>“The next lady said she was descended from Aaron Burr on one side and Captain Kidd on the other. She was using the Captain Kidd side in her business. She wanted to charge me sixty cents an hour for board and lodging. I traveled around all over Houston and found nine widows of Supreme Court judges, twelve relicts of governors and generals, and twenty-two ruins left by happy departed colonels, professors, and majors, who put fancy figures on the benefits of their society, and carried victuals as a side line.</p>

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

@@ -73,7 +73,7 @@
 			<p>“I did it, and then I said to Bob, pointing: ‘There’s my house, and here’s my office, and up there’s Maine, and out that way is California, and over there is Florida⁠—and that’s your range ‘til court meets. You’re in my charge, and I take the responsibility. You be here when you’re wanted.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Thanks, Tom,’ he said, kind of carelessly; ‘I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t lock me up. Court meets next Monday, so, if you don’t object, I’ll just loaf around the office until then. I’ve got one favour to ask, if it isn’t too much. If you’d let the kids come out in the yard once in a while and have a romp I’d like it.’</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Why not?’ I answered him. ‘They’re welcome, and so are you. And come to my house, the same as ever.’ You see, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Nettlewick, you can’t make a friend of a thief, but neither can you make a thief of a friend, all at once.”</p>
-			<p>The examiner made no answer. At that moment was heard the shrill whistle of a locomotive pulling into the depot. That was the train on the little, narrow-gauge road that struck into San Rosario from the south. The major cocked his ear and listened for a moment, and looked at his watch. The narrow-gauge was in on time⁠—10.35. The major continued:</p>
+			<p>The examiner made no answer. At that moment was heard the shrill whistle of a locomotive pulling into the depot. That was the train on the little, narrow-gauge road that struck into San Rosario from the south. The major cocked his ear and listened for a moment, and looked at his watch. The narrow-gauge was in on time⁠—10:35. The major continued:</p>
 			<p>“So Bob hung around the office, reading the papers and smoking. I put another deputy to work in his place, and after a while, the first excitement of the case wore off.</p>
 			<p>“One day when we were alone in the office Bob came over to where I was sitting. He was looking sort of grim and blue⁠—the same look he used to get when he’d been up watching for Indians all night or herd-riding.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘it’s harder than standing off redskins; it’s harder than lying in the lava desert forty miles from water; but I’m going to stick it out to the end. You know that’s been my style. But if you’d tip me the smallest kind of a sign⁠—if you’d just say, “Bob I understand,” why, it would make it lots easier.’</p>

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@@ -31,7 +31,7 @@
 					<span epub:type="subtitle">The Curse</span>
 				</h3>
 				<p>Sir Everhard FitzArmond descended the stairway of Oakhurst Castle and passed out into the avenue that led from the doorway to the great iron gates of the park. Lord Oakhurst had been a great sportsman during his life and always kept a well-stocked kennel of curs, which now rushed out from their hiding places and with loud yelps sprang upon the physician, burying their fangs in his lower limbs and seriously damaging his apparel.</p>
-				<p>Sir Everllard, startled out of his professional dignity and usual indifference to human suffering, by the personal application of feeling, gave vent to a most horrible and blighting CURSE and ran with great swiftness to his carriage and drove off toward the city.</p>
+				<p>Sir Everhard, startled out of his professional dignity and usual indifference to human suffering, by the personal application of feeling, gave vent to a most horrible and blighting <b>curse</b> and ran with great swiftness to his carriage and drove off toward the city.</p>
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src/epub/text/no-time-to-lose.xhtml

@@ -11,7 +11,8 @@
 			<p>A young Houston mother rushed into die house the other day in the utmost excitement, calling out to her mother to put an iron on the fire as quick as possible.</p>
 			<p>“What is the matter?” asked the old lady.</p>
 			<p>“A dog has just bitten Tommy, and I am afraid it was mad. Oh, hurry up, mother; be as quick as you can!”</p>
-			<p>“Are you going to try to cauterize the wound?” “No⁠—I’ve got to iron that blue skirt before I can wear it to go after the doctor. Do be in a hurry.”</p>
+			<p>“Are you going to try to cauterize the wound?”</p>
+			<p>“No⁠—I’ve got to iron that blue skirt before I can wear it to go after the doctor. Do be in a hurry.”</p>
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src/epub/text/revenge.xhtml

@@ -11,7 +11,7 @@
 				<h2 epub:type="title">Revenge</h2>
 				<blockquote epub:type="z3998:epigraph">
 					<p>The man, woman, child, or animal who pens “Postscripts” for the Houston Post is a weird, wild-eyed genius and ought to be captured and put on exhibition with the “nameless things” they are taking out of the government well at San Marcos. There is certainly a reward for both specimens.</p>
-					<cite>—Kyle <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Star-Vindicator</i>.</cite>
+					<cite>Kyle <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Star-Vindicator</i>.</cite>
 				</blockquote>
 			</header>
 			<p>Although we can stand a great deal, this attack has goaded us to what is perhaps a bitter and cruel, but not entirely an unjustifiable revenge. Below will be found an editorial from the last number of the Star-Vindicator:</p>

src/epub/text/the-sporting-editor-on-culture.xhtml

@@ -20,7 +20,7 @@
 			<p>“Sir!” exclaimed the young lady severely, “you are presumptuous. I do not understand your obscure talk. Our society is not connected with a gymnasium. Our aim is the encouragement of social ethics.”</p>
 			<p>“Oh,” returned the sporting editor, in a disappointed tone, “you are on the society and pink tea racket. Sorry. That lets me out. Hoped you were going in for athletics. You could do it so well, too. Take my advice now, and try that little exercise every morning for a week. You’ll be surprised to see how much it will benefit your muscles. As I said, just stand on one—”</p>
 			<p>Bang! went the door, and the blue-eyed young lady was gone.</p>
-			<p>“It’s a pity,” said the sporting editor, “that these girls don’t pay some attention to selfculture without that⁠—that ethical part.”</p>
+			<p>“It’s a pity,” said the sporting editor, “that these girls don’t pay some attention to self-culture without that⁠—that ethical part.”</p>
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