[Whirlygigs] [Editorial] some one -> someone

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@@ -26,7 +26,7 @@
 			<p>Often the two sat in this square, but tonight Lorison guided her past the stone-stepped gate, and still riverward. As they walked, he smiled to himself to think that all he knew of her⁠—except that be loved her⁠—was her name, Norah Greenway, and that she lived with her brother. They had talked about everything except themselves. Perhaps her reticence had been caused by his.</p>
 			<p>They came, at length, upon the levee, and sat upon a great, prostrate beam. The air was pungent with the dust of commerce. The great river slipped yellowly past. Across it Algiers lay, a longitudinous black bulk against a vibrant electric haze sprinkled with exact stars.</p>
 			<p>The girl was young and of the piquant order. A certain bright melancholy pervaded her; she possessed an untarnished, pale prettiness doomed to please. Her voice, when she spoke, dwarfed her theme. It was the voice capable of investing little subjects with a large interest. She sat at ease, bestowing her skirts with the little womanly touch, serene as if the begrimed pier were a summer garden. Lorison poked the rotting boards with his cane.</p>
-			<p>He began by telling her that he was in love with some one to whom he durst not speak of it. “And why not?” she asked, accepting swiftly his fatuous presentation of a third person of straw. “My place in the world,” he answered, “is none to ask a woman to share. I am an outcast from honest people; I am wrongly accused of one crime, and am, I believe, guilty of another.”</p>
+			<p>He began by telling her that he was in love with someone to whom he durst not speak of it. “And why not?” she asked, accepting swiftly his fatuous presentation of a third person of straw. “My place in the world,” he answered, “is none to ask a woman to share. I am an outcast from honest people; I am wrongly accused of one crime, and am, I believe, guilty of another.”</p>
 			<p>Thence he plunged into the story of his abdication from society. The story, pruned of his moral philosophy, deserves no more than the slightest touch. It is no new tale, that of the gambler’s declension. During one night’s sitting he lost, and then had imperilled a certain amount of his employer’s money, which, by accident, he carried with him. He continued to lose, to the last wager, and then began to gain, leaving the game winner to a somewhat formidable sum. The same night his employer’s safe was robbed. A search was had; the winnings of Lorison were found in his room, their total forming an accusative nearness to the sum purloined. He was taken, tried and, through incomplete evidence, released, smutched with the sinister devoirs of a disagreeing jury.</p>
 			<p>“It is not in the unjust accusation,” he said to the girl, “that my burden lies, but in the knowledge that from the moment I staked the first dollar of the firm’s money I was a criminal⁠—no matter whether I lost or won. You see why it is impossible for me to speak of love to her.”</p>
 			<p>“It is a sad thing,” said Norah, after a little pause, “to think what very good people there are in the world.”</p>

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@@ -52,7 +52,7 @@
 			<p>Again discomfited, the concerted wit and resource of the <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Enterprise</i> huddled around Calloway’s puzzle, considering its mysterious words in vain.</p>
 			<p>Then Vesey came in.</p>
 			<p>Vesey was the youngest reporter. He had a thirty-two-inch chest and wore a number fourteen collar; but his bright Scotch plaid suit gave him presence and conferred no obscurity upon his whereabouts. He wore his hat in such a position that people followed him about to see him take it off, convinced that it must be hung upon a peg driven into the back of his head. He was never without an immense, knotted, hardwood cane with a German-silver tip on its crooked handle. Vesey was the best photograph hustler in the office. Scott said it was because no living human being could resist the personal triumph it was to hand his picture over to Vesey. Vesey always wrote his own news stories, except the big ones, which were sent to the rewrite men. Add to this fact that among all the inhabitants, temples, and groves of the earth nothing existed that could abash Vesey, and his dim sketch is concluded.</p>
-			<p>Vesey butted into the circle of cipher readers very much as Heffelbauer’s “code” would have done, and asked what was up. Some one explained, with the touch of half-familiar condescension that they always used toward him. Vesey reached out and took the cablegram from the m. e.’s hand. Under the protection of some special Providence, he was always doing appalling things like that, and coming, off unscathed.</p>
+			<p>Vesey butted into the circle of cipher readers very much as Heffelbauer’s “code” would have done, and asked what was up. Someone explained, with the touch of half-familiar condescension that they always used toward him. Vesey reached out and took the cablegram from the m. e.’s hand. Under the protection of some special Providence, he was always doing appalling things like that, and coming, off unscathed.</p>
 			<p>“It’s a code,” said Vesey. “Anybody got the key?”</p>
 			<p>“The office has no code,” said Boyd, reaching for the message. Vesey held to it.</p>
 			<p>“Then old Calloway expects us to read it, anyhow,” said he. “He’s up a tree, or something, and he’s made this up so as to get it by the censor. It’s up to us. Gee! I wish they had sent me, too. Say⁠—we can’t afford to fall down on our end of it. ‘Foregone, preconcerted rash, witching’⁠—h’m.”</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 some one 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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@@ -95,7 +95,7 @@
 			<p>At six o’clock Mateo returned and reported the sloop ready. He and his brother lifted the trunk into the cart, covered it with straw and conveyed it to the point of embarkation. From there they transferred it on board in the sloop’s dory. Then Mateo returned for additional orders.</p>
 			<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Conant was ready. She had settled all business matters with Angela, and was impatiently waiting. She wore a long, loose black-silk duster that she often walked about in when the evenings were chilly. On her head was a small round hat, and over it the apricot-coloured lace mantilla.</p>
 			<p>Dusk had quickly followed the short twilight. Mateo led her by dark and grass-grown streets toward the point behind which the sloop was anchored. On turning a corner they beheld the Hotel Orilla del Mar three streets away, nebulously aglow with its array of kerosene lamps.</p>
-			<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Conant paused, with streaming eyes. “I must, I <em>must</em> see him once before I go,” she murmured in anguish. But even then she did not falter in her decision. Quickly she invented a plan by which she might speak to him, and yet make her departure without his knowing. She would walk past the hotel, ask some one to call him out and talk a few moments on some trivial excuse, leaving him expecting to see her at her home at seven.</p>
+			<p><abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Conant paused, with streaming eyes. “I must, I <em>must</em> see him once before I go,” she murmured in anguish. But even then she did not falter in her decision. Quickly she invented a plan by which she might speak to him, and yet make her departure without his knowing. She would walk past the hotel, ask someone to call him out and talk a few moments on some trivial excuse, leaving him expecting to see her at her home at seven.</p>
 			<p>She unpinned her hat and gave it to Mateo. “Keep this, and wait here till I come,” she ordered. Then she draped the mantilla over her head as she usually did when walking after sunset, and went straight to the Orilla del <abbr class="eoc">Mar.</abbr></p>
 			<p>She was glad to see the bulky, white-clad figure of Tio Pancho standing alone on the gallery.</p>
 			<p>“Tio Pancho,” she said, with a charming smile, “may I trouble you to ask <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Merriam to come out for just a few moments that I may speak with him?”</p>