Add z3998:name-title semantic to some abbreviations

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@@ -31,8 +31,8 @@
 					<p class="location">Union Square, New York</p>
 					<p epub:type="se:letter.dateline">January 13, 1907</p>
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-				<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear <abbr>Mr.</abbr> McGill:</p>
-				<p>We have read with singular pleasure your manuscript <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Paradise Regained</i>. There is no doubt in our minds that so spirited an account of the joys of sane country living should meet with popular approval, and, with the exception of a few revisions and abbreviations, we would be glad to publish the book practically as it stands. We would like to have it illustrated by <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Tortoni, some of whose work you may have seen, and would be glad to know whether he may call upon you in order to acquaint himself with the local colour of your neighbourhood.</p>
+				<p epub:type="z3998:salutation">Dear <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> McGill:</p>
+				<p>We have read with singular pleasure your manuscript <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Paradise Regained</i>. There is no doubt in our minds that so spirited an account of the joys of sane country living should meet with popular approval, and, with the exception of a few revisions and abbreviations, we would be glad to publish the book practically as it stands. We would like to have it illustrated by <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Tortoni, some of whose work you may have seen, and would be glad to know whether he may call upon you in order to acquaint himself with the local colour of your neighbourhood.</p>
 				<p>We would be glad to pay you a royalty of 10 percent upon the retail price of the book, and we enclose duplicate contracts for your signature in case this proves satisfactory to you.</p>
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 					<p epub:type="z3998:valediction">Believe us, <abbr>etc.</abbr>, <abbr>etc.</abbr>,</p>
@@ -41,7 +41,7 @@
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 			<p>I have since thought that “Paradise Lost” would have been a better title for that book. It was published in the autumn of 1907, and since that time our life has never been the same. By some mischance the book became the success of the season; it was widely commended as “a gospel of health and sanity” and Andrew received, in almost every mail, offers from publishers and magazine editors who wanted to get hold of his next book. It is almost incredible to what stratagems publishers will descend to influence an author. Andrew had written in <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Paradise Regained</i> of the tramps who visit us, how quaint and appealing some of them are (let me add, how dirty), and how we never turn away anyone who seems worthy. Would you believe that, in the spring after the book was published, a disreputable-looking vagabond with a knapsack, who turned up one day, blarneyed Andrew about his book and stayed overnight, announced himself at breakfast as a leading New York publisher? He had chosen this ruse in order to make Andrew’s acquaintance.</p>
 			<p>You can imagine that it didn’t take long for Andrew to become spoiled at this rate! The next year he suddenly disappeared, leaving only a note on the kitchen table, and tramped all over the state for six weeks collecting material for a new book. I had all I could do to keep him from going to New York to talk to editors and people of that sort. Envelopes of newspaper cuttings used to come to him, and he would pore over them when he ought to have been ploughing corn. Luckily the mail man comes along about the middle of the morning when Andrew is out in the fields, so I used to look over the letters before he saw them. After the second book (<i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Happiness and Hayseed</i> it was called) was printed, letters from publishers got so thick that I used to put them all in the stove before Andrew saw them⁠—except those from the Decameron Jones people, which sometimes held checks. Literary folk used to turn up now and then to interview Andrew, but generally I managed to head them off.</p>
-			<p>But Andrew got to be less and less of a farmer and more and more of a literary man. He bought a typewriter. He would hang over the pigpen noting down adjectives for the sunset instead of mending the weather vane on the barn which took a slew so that the north wind came from the southwest. He hardly ever looked at the Sears Roebuck catalogues any more, and after <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Decameron came to visit us and suggested that Andrew write a book of country poems, the man became simply unbearable.</p>
+			<p>But Andrew got to be less and less of a farmer and more and more of a literary man. He bought a typewriter. He would hang over the pigpen noting down adjectives for the sunset instead of mending the weather vane on the barn which took a slew so that the north wind came from the southwest. He hardly ever looked at the Sears Roebuck catalogues any more, and after <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Decameron came to visit us and suggested that Andrew write a book of country poems, the man became simply unbearable.</p>
 			<p>And all the time I was counting eggs and turning out three meals a day, and running the farm when Andrew got a literary fit and would go off on some vagabond jaunt to collect adventures for a new book. (I wish you could have seen the state he was in when he came back from these trips, hoboing it along the roads without any money or a clean sock to his back. One time he returned with a cough you could hear the other side of the barn, and I had to nurse him for three weeks.) When somebody wrote a little booklet about “The Sage of Redfield” and described me as a “rural Xantippe” and “the domestic balance-wheel that kept the great writer close to the homely realities of life” I made up my mind to give Andrew some of his own medicine. And that’s my story.</p>
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 			<p>We stood in complete dismay⁠—I did, at any rate⁠—for about as long as it takes to peel a potato. There could be no doubt in which direction the van had moved, for the track of the wheels was plain. It had gone farther up the lane toward the quarry. In the earth, which was still soggy, were a number of footprints.</p>
 			<p>“By the bones of Polycarp!” exclaimed the Professor, “those hoboes have stolen the van. I guess they think it’ll make a fine Pullman sleeper for them. If I’d realized there was more than one of them I’d have hung around closer. They need a lesson.”</p>
 			<p>Good Lord! I thought, here’s Don Quixote about to wade into another fight.</p>
-			<p>“Hadn’t we better go back and get <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Pratt?” I asked.</p>
+			<p>“Hadn’t we better go back and get <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Pratt?” I asked.</p>
 			<p>This was obviously the wrong thing to say. It put the fiery little man all the more on his mettle. His beard bristled. “Nothing of the sort!” he said. “Those fellows are cowards and vagabonds anyway. They can’t be far off; you haven’t been away more than an hour, have you? If they’ve done anything to Bock, by the bones of Chaucer, I’ll harry them. I <em>thought</em> I heard him bark.”</p>
 			<p>He hurried up the lane, and I followed in a panicky frame of mind. The track wound along a hillside, between a high bank and a forest of birch trees. I think the distance can’t have been more than a quarter of a mile. Anyway, in a very few minutes the road made a sharp twist to the right and we found ourselves looking down into the quarry, over a sheer rocky drop of a hundred feet at least. Below, drawn over to one side of the wall of rock, stood Parnassus. Peg was between the shafts. Bock was nowhere to be seen. Sitting by the van were three disreputable looking men. The smoke of a cooking fire rose into the air; evidently they were making free with my little larder.</p>
 			<p>“Keep back,” said the Professor softly. “Don’t let them see us.” He flattened himself in the grass and crawled to the edge of the cliff. I did the same, and we lay there, invisible from below, but quite able to see everything in the quarry. The three tramps were evidently enjoying an excellent breakfast.</p>

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@@ -18,8 +18,8 @@
 			<p>“The brute!” I said. “What on earth shall I do?”</p>
 			<p>“I suggest that you telephone to the Redfield Bank,” he said, “and countermand your brother’s instructions⁠—that is, unless you think you’ve made a mistake? I don’t want to take advantage of you.”</p>
 			<p>“Nonsense!” I said. “I’m not going to let Andrew spoil my holiday. That’s always his way: if he gets an idea into his head he’s like a mule. I’ll telephone to Redfield, and then we’ll go to see the bank here.”</p>
-			<p>We put Parnassus up at the hotel, and I went to the telephone. I was thoroughly angry at Andrew, and tried to get him on the wire first. But Sabine Farm didn’t answer. Then I telephoned to the bank in Redfield, and got <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Shirley. He’s the cashier, and I know him well. I guess he recognized my voice, for he made no objection when I told him what I wanted.</p>
-			<p>“Now you telephone to the bank in Woodbridge,” I said, “and tell them to let <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Mifflin have the money. I’ll go there with him to identify him. Will that be all right?”</p>
+			<p>We put Parnassus up at the hotel, and I went to the telephone. I was thoroughly angry at Andrew, and tried to get him on the wire first. But Sabine Farm didn’t answer. Then I telephoned to the bank in Redfield, and got <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Shirley. He’s the cashier, and I know him well. I guess he recognized my voice, for he made no objection when I told him what I wanted.</p>
+			<p>“Now you telephone to the bank in Woodbridge,” I said, “and tell them to let <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Mifflin have the money. I’ll go there with him to identify him. Will that be all right?”</p>
 			<p>“Perfectly,” he said. The deceitful little snail! If I had only known what he was concocting!</p>
 			<p>Mifflin said there was a train at three o’clock which he could take. We stopped at a little lunch room for a bite to eat, then he went again to the bank, and I with him. We asked the cashier whether they had had a message from Redfield.</p>
 			<p>“Yes,” he said. “We’ve just heard.” And he looked at me rather queerly.</p>
@@ -29,9 +29,9 @@
 			<p>He led me into a little sitting-room and asked me to sit down. I supposed that he was going to get some paper for me to sign, so I waited quite patiently for several minutes. I had left the Professor at the cashier’s window, where they would give him his money.</p>
 			<p>I waited some time, and finally I got tired of looking at the Life Insurance calendars. Then I happened to glance out of the window. Surely that was the Professor, just disappearing round the corner with another man?</p>
 			<p>I returned to the cashier’s desk.</p>
-			<p>“What’s the matter?” I said. “Your mahogany furniture is charming, but I’m tired of it. Do I have to sit here any longer? And where’s <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Mifflin? Did he get his money?”</p>
+			<p>“What’s the matter?” I said. “Your mahogany furniture is charming, but I’m tired of it. Do I have to sit here any longer? And where’s <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Mifflin? Did he get his money?”</p>
 			<p>The cashier was a horrid little creature with side whiskers.</p>
-			<p>“I’m sorry you had to wait, Madam,” he said. “The transaction is just concluded. We gave <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Mifflin what was due him. There is no need for you to stay longer.”</p>
+			<p>“I’m sorry you had to wait, Madam,” he said. “The transaction is just concluded. We gave <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Mifflin what was due him. There is no need for you to stay longer.”</p>
 			<p>I thought this was very extraordinary. Surely the Professor would not leave without saying goodbye? However, I noticed that the clock said three minutes to three, so I thought that perhaps he had had to run to catch his train. He was such a strange little man, anyway⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>Well, I went back to the hotel, quite a little upset by this sudden parting. At least I was glad the little man had got his money all right. Probably he would write from Brooklyn, but of course I wouldn’t get the letter till I returned to the farm as that was the only address he would have. Perhaps that wouldn’t be so long after all: but I did not feel like going back now, when Andrew had been so horrid.</p>
 			<p>I drove Parnassus on the ferry, and we crossed the river. I felt lost and disagreeable. Even the fresh movement through the air gave me no pleasure. Bock whined dismally inside the van.</p>
@@ -42,13 +42,13 @@
 			<p>The cultivation of philosophic reflection was a new experience for me. Peg ambled along contentedly and the dog trailed under Parnassus where I had tied him. I read <i epub:type="se:name.publication.magazine">Vanity Fair</i> and thought about all sorts of things. Once I got out to pick some scarlet maple leaves that attracted me. The motors passing annoyed me with their dust and noise, but by and by one of them stopped, looked at my outfit curiously, and then asked to see some books. I put up the flaps for them and we pulled off to one side of the road and had a good talk. They bought two or three books, too.</p>
 			<p>By the time I neared Bath the hands of my watch pointed to supper. I was still a bit shy of Mifflin’s scheme of stopping overnight at farmhouses, so I thought I’d go right into the town and look for a hotel. The next day was Sunday, so it seemed reasonable to give the horse a good rest and stay in Bath two nights. The Hominy House looked clean and old fashioned, and the name amused me, so in I went. It was a kind of high class boarding house, with mostly old women around. It looked to me almost literary and Elbert Hubbardish compared to the Grand Central in Shelby. The folks there stared at me somewhat suspiciously and I half thought they were going to say they didn’t take pedlars; but when I flashed a new five dollar bill at the desk I got good service. A five dollar bill is a patent of nobility in New England.</p>
 			<p>My! how I enjoyed that creamed chicken on toast, and buckwheat cakes with syrup! After you get used to cooking all your own grub, a meal off someone else’s stove is the finest kind of treat. After supper I was all prepared to sit out on the porch with my sweater on and give a rocking chair a hot box, but then I remembered that it was up to me to carry on the traditions of Parnassus. I was there to spread the gospel of good books. I got to thinking how the Professor never shirked carrying on his campaign, and I determined that I would be worthy of the cause.</p>
-			<p>When I think back about the experience, it seems pretty crazy, but at the time I was filled with a kind of evangelistic zeal. I thought if I was going to try to sell books I might as well have some fun out of it. Most of the old ladies were squatting about in the parlour, knitting or reading or playing cards. In the smoking room I could see two dried up men. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hominy, the manager of the place, was sitting at her desk behind a brass railing, going over accounts with a quill pen. I thought that the house probably hadn’t had a shock since Walt Whitman wrote <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Leaves of Grass</i>. In a kind of do or die spirit I determined to give them a rouse.</p>
+			<p>When I think back about the experience, it seems pretty crazy, but at the time I was filled with a kind of evangelistic zeal. I thought if I was going to try to sell books I might as well have some fun out of it. Most of the old ladies were squatting about in the parlour, knitting or reading or playing cards. In the smoking room I could see two dried up men. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hominy, the manager of the place, was sitting at her desk behind a brass railing, going over accounts with a quill pen. I thought that the house probably hadn’t had a shock since Walt Whitman wrote <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Leaves of Grass</i>. In a kind of do or die spirit I determined to give them a rouse.</p>
 			<p>In the dining room I had noticed a huge dinner bell that stood behind the door. I stepped in there, and got it. Standing in the big hall I began ringing it as hard as I could shake my arm.</p>
-			<p>You might have thought it was a fire alarm. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hominy dropped her pen in horror. The colonial dames in the parlour came to life and ran into the hall like cockroaches. In a minute I had gathered quite a respectable audience. It was up to me to do the spellbinding.</p>
+			<p>You might have thought it was a fire alarm. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hominy dropped her pen in horror. The colonial dames in the parlour came to life and ran into the hall like cockroaches. In a minute I had gathered quite a respectable audience. It was up to me to do the spellbinding.</p>
 			<p>“Friends,” I said (unconsciously imitating the Professor’s tricks of the trade, I guess), “this bell which generally summons you to the groaning board now calls you to a literary repast. With the permission of the management, and with apologies for disturbing your tranquillity, I will deliver a few remarks on the value of good books. I see that several of you are fond of reading, so perhaps the topic will be congenial?”</p>
 			<p>They gazed at me about as warmly as a round of walnut sundaes.</p>
-			<p>“Ladies and Gentlemen,” I continued, “of course you remember the story of Abe Lincoln when he said, ‘if you call a leg a tail, how many tails has a dog?’ ‘Five,’ you answer. Wrong; because, as <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Lincoln said, calling a leg a tail⁠ ⁠…”</p>
-			<p>I still think it was a good beginning. But that was as far as I got. <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Hominy came out of her trance, hastened from the cage, and grabbed my arm. She was quite red with anger.</p>
+			<p>“Ladies and Gentlemen,” I continued, “of course you remember the story of Abe Lincoln when he said, ‘if you call a leg a tail, how many tails has a dog?’ ‘Five,’ you answer. Wrong; because, as <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Lincoln said, calling a leg a tail⁠ ⁠…”</p>
+			<p>I still think it was a good beginning. But that was as far as I got. <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Hominy came out of her trance, hastened from the cage, and grabbed my arm. She was quite red with anger.</p>
 			<p>“Really!” she said. “Well, really!⁠ ⁠… I must ask you to continue this in some other place. We do not allow commercial travellers in this house.”</p>
 			<p>And within fifteen minutes they had hitched up Peg and asked me to move on. Indeed I was so taken aback by my own zeal that I could hardly protest. In a kind of daze I found myself at the Moose Hotel, where they assured me that they catered to mercantile people. I went straight to my room and fell asleep as soon as I reached the straw mattress.</p>
 			<p>That was my first and only public speech.</p>