Semanticate

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@@ -18,7 +18,7 @@
 			<hr/>
 			<p>They went down the following evening. The night was warm and humid, and through the narrow tenement streets there poured a teeming mass of life. People by the thousands passed, bareheaded, men in shirt sleeves, their faces glistening with sweat. Animal odors filled the air. The torches on the pushcarts threw flaring lights and shadows, the peddlers shouted hoarsely, the tradesmen in the booths and stalls joined in with cries, shrill peals of mirth. The mass swept onward, talking, talking, and its voice was a guttural roar. Small boys and girls with piercing yells kept darting under elbows, old women dozed on doorsteps, babies screamed on every side. Mothers leaned out of windows, and by their faces you could see that they were screaming angrily for children to come up to bed. But you could not hear their cries. Here around a hurdy gurdy gravely danced some little girls. A tense young Jew, dark faced and thin, was shouting from a wagon that all men and women must be free and own the factories and mills. A mob of small boys, clustered ’round a “camp fire” they had made on the street, were leaping wildly through the flames. It was a mammoth cauldron here, seething, bubbling over with a million foreign lives. Deborah’s big family.</p>
 			<p>She turned into a doorway, went down a long dark passage and came into a courtyard enclosed by greasy tenement walls that reared to a spot of dark blue sky where a few quiet stars were twinkling down. With a feeling of repugnance Roger followed his daughter into a tall rear building and up a rickety flight of stairs. On the fourth landing she knocked at a door, and presently it was opened by a stout young Irish woman with flushed haggard features and disheveled hair.</p>
-			<p>“Oh. Good evening, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Berry.”</p>
+			<p>“Oh. Good evening, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Berry.”</p>
 			<p>“Good evening. Come in,” was the curt reply. They entered a small stifling room where were a stove, two kitchen chairs and three frowzled beds in corners. On one of the beds lay a baby asleep, on another two small restless boys sat up and watched the visitors. A sick man lay upon the third. And a cripple boy, a boarder here, stood on his crutches watching them. Roger was struck at once by his face. Over the broad cheek bones the sallow skin was tightly drawn, but there was a determined set to the jaws that matched the boy’s shrewd grayish eyes, and his face lit up in a wonderful smile.</p>
 			<p>“Hello, Miss Deborah,” he said. His voice had a cheery quality.</p>
 			<p>“Hello, Johnny. How are you?”</p>
@@ -39,15 +39,15 @@
 			<p>“Yes, it’s your family,” she agreed. “And it’s none of my business, I know⁠—except that John is one of my boys⁠—and if things are to go on like this I can’t let him board here any more. If he had let me know before I’d have taken him from you sooner. You’ll miss the four dollars a week he pays.”</p>
 			<p>The woman swallowed fiercely. The flush on her face had deepened. She scowled to keep back the tears.</p>
 			<p>“We can all die for all I care! I’ve about got to the end of my rope!”</p>
-			<p>“I see you have.” Deborah’s voice was low. “You’ve made a hard plucky fight, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Berry. Are there any empty rooms left in this building?”</p>
+			<p>“I see you have.” Deborah’s voice was low. “You’ve made a hard plucky fight, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Berry. Are there any empty rooms left in this building?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, two upstairs. What do you want to know for?”</p>
 			<p>“I’m going to rent them for you. I’ll arrange it tonight with the janitor, on condition that you promise to move your children tomorrow upstairs and keep them there until this is over. Will you?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes.”</p>
 			<p>“That’s sensible. And I’ll have one of the visiting nurses here within an hour.”</p>
 			<p>“Thanks.”</p>
 			<p>“And later on we’ll have a talk.”</p>
 			<p>“All right⁠—”</p>
-			<p>“Good night, <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Berry.”</p>
+			<p>“Good night, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Berry.”</p>
 			<p>“Good night, Miss Gale, I’m much obliged.⁠ ⁠… Say, wait a minute! Will you?” The wife had followed them out on the landing and she was clutching Deborah’s arm. “Why can’t the nurse give him something,” she whispered, “to put him to sleep for good and all? It ain’t right to let a man suffer like that! I can’t stand it! I’m⁠—I’m⁠—” she broke off with a sob. Deborah put one arm around her and held her steadily for a moment.</p>
 			<p>“The nurse will see that he sleeps,” she said. “Now, John,” she added, presently, when the woman had gone into the room, “I want you to get your things together. I’ll have the janitor move them upstairs. You sleep there tonight, and tomorrow morning come to see me at the school.”</p>
 			<p>“All right, Miss Deborah, much obliged. I’ll be all right. Good night, sir⁠—”</p>
@@ -56,7 +56,7 @@
 			<p>“Who are they?” he asked.</p>
 			<p>“Poor people,” she said. And Roger flinched.</p>
 			<p>“Who is this boy?”</p>
-			<p>“A neighbor of theirs. His mother, who was a widow, died about two years ago. He was left alone and scared to death lest he should be ‘put away’ in some big institution. He got <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Berry to take him in, and to earn his board he began selling papers instead of coming to our school. So our school visitor looked him up. Since then I have been paying his board from a fund I have from friends uptown, and so he has finished his schooling. He’s to graduate next week. He means to be a stenographer.”</p>
+			<p>“A neighbor of theirs. His mother, who was a widow, died about two years ago. He was left alone and scared to death lest he should be ‘put away’ in some big institution. He got <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Berry to take him in, and to earn his board he began selling papers instead of coming to our school. So our school visitor looked him up. Since then I have been paying his board from a fund I have from friends uptown, and so he has finished his schooling. He’s to graduate next week. He means to be a stenographer.”</p>
 			<p>“How old is he?”</p>
 			<p>“Seventeen,” she replied.</p>
 			<p>“How was he crippled? Born that way?”</p>

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@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@
 		<section id="chapter-12" epub:type="chapter">
 			<h2 epub:type="ordinal z3998:roman">XII</h2>
 			<p>Roger awoke the next morning feeling sore and weary, and later in his office it was hard to keep his mind on his work. He thought of young Isadore Freedom. He was glad he had met that boy, and so he felt toward Deborah’s whole terrific family. Confused and deafening as it was, there was something inspiring in it all. But God save him from many such evenings! For half his life Roger had been a collector, not only of rings but of people, too, of curious personalities. These human bits, these memories, he had picked up as he lived along and had taken them with him and made them his own, had trimmed and polished every one until its rough unpleasant edges were all nicely smoothed away and it glittered and shone like the gem that it was. For Roger was an idealist. And so he would have liked to do here. What a gem could be made of Isadore with a little careful polishing.</p>
-			<p>But Deborah’s way was different. She stayed in life, lived in it close, with its sharp edges bristling. In this there was something splendid, but there was something tragic, too. It was all very well for that young Jew to burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new gods. “In five years,” Roger told himself, “<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Isadore Freedom will either tone down or go stark mad.”</p>
+			<p>But Deborah’s way was different. She stayed in life, lived in it close, with its sharp edges bristling. In this there was something splendid, but there was something tragic, too. It was all very well for that young Jew to burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new gods. “In five years,” Roger told himself, “<abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Isadore Freedom will either tone down or go stark mad.”</p>
 			<p>But quite probably he would tone down, for he was only a youngster, these were Isadore’s wild oats. But this was no longer Deborah’s youth, she had been at this job ten years. And she hadn’t gone mad, she had kept herself sane, she had many sides her father knew. He knew her in the mountains, or bustling about at home getting ready for Laura’s wedding, or packing Edith’s children off for their summer up at the farm. But did that make it any easier? No. To let yourself go was easy, but to keep hold of yourself was hard. It meant wear and tear on a woman, this constant straining effort to keep her balance and see life whole.</p>
 			<p>“Well, it will break her down, that’s all, and I don’t propose to allow it,” he thought. “She’s got to rest this summer and go easier next fall.”</p>
 			<p>But how could he accomplish it? As he thought about her school, with its long and generous arms reaching upon every side out into the tenements, the prospect was bewildering. He searched for something definite. What could he do to prove to his daughter his real interest in her work? Presently he remembered Johnny Geer, the cripple boy whom he had liked, and at once he began to feel himself back again upon known ground. Instead of millions here was one, one plucky lad who needed help. All right, by George, he should have it! And Roger told his daughter he would be glad to pay the expense of sending John away for the summer, and that in the autumn perhaps he would take the lad into his office.</p>
@@ -27,7 +27,7 @@
 			<p>“In my arm where you’re rubbing⁠—I can’t feel your hand.”</p>
 			<p>“You’d better have a doctor!”</p>
 			<p>“Telephone Allan⁠—Allan Baird. He knows about this,” she muttered. And Roger ran down to the telephone. He was thoroughly frightened.</p>
-			<p>“All right, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gale,” came Baird’s gruff bass, steady and slow, “I think I know what the trouble is⁠—and I wouldn’t worry if I were you. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” And it was hardly more than that when he came into Deborah’s room. A moment he looked down at her.</p>
+			<p>“All right, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gale,” came Baird’s gruff bass, steady and slow, “I think I know what the trouble is⁠—and I wouldn’t worry if I were you. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” And it was hardly more than that when he came into Deborah’s room. A moment he looked down at her.</p>
 			<p>“Again?” he said. She glanced up at him and nodded, and smiled quickly through set teeth. Baird carefully examined her and then turned to Roger: “Now I guess you’d better go out. You stay,” he added to Sarah, the maid. “I may need you here awhile.”</p>
 			<p>About an hour later he came down to Roger’s study.</p>
 			<p>“She’s safe enough now, I guess,” he said. “I’ve telephoned for a nurse for her, and she’ll have to stay in bed a few days.”</p>

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@@ -29,7 +29,7 @@
 			<p>“Most of ’em love their children,” Roger said uneasily. Baird turned on him a steady look.</p>
 			<p>“Love isn’t enough,” he retorted. “The time is coming very soon when we’ll have the right to guard the child not only when it’s a baby but even before it has been born.”</p>
 			<p>Roger drew closer to John after this. Often behind the beaming smile he would feel the pain and loneliness, and the angry grit which was fighting it down. And so he would ask John home to supper on nights when nobody else was there. One day late in the afternoon they were walking home together along the west side of Madison Square. The big open space was studded with lights sparkling up at the frosty stars, in a city, a world, a universe that seemed filled with the zest and the vigor of life. Out of these lights a mighty tower loomed high up into the sky. And stopping on his crutches, a grim small crooked figure in all this rushing turmoil, John set his jaws, and with his shrewd and twinkling eyes fixed on the top of the tower, he said,</p>
-			<p>“I meant to tell you, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gale. You was asking me once what I wanted to be. And I want to be an architect.”</p>
+			<p>“I meant to tell you, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gale. You was asking me once what I wanted to be. And I want to be an architect.”</p>
 			<p>“Do, eh,” grunted Roger. He, too, looked up at that thing in the stars, and there was a tightening at his throat. “All right,” he added, presently, “why not start in and be one?”</p>
 			<p>“How?” asked John alertly.</p>
 			<p>“Well, my boy,” said Roger, “I’d hate to lose you in the office⁠—”</p>
@@ -42,7 +42,7 @@
 			<p>With a quick flush of pleased surprise, Deborah gave her father a look that embarrassed him tremendously.</p>
 			<p>“Well, why not?” he snapped at her. “Sensible, isn’t it?”</p>
 			<p>“Perfectly.”</p>
-			<p>And sensible it turned out to be. When John first heard about it, he was apparently quite overcome, and there followed a brief awkward pause while he rapidly blinked the joy from his eyes. But then he said, “Fine, thank you. That’s mighty good of you, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gale,” in as matter of fact a tone as you please. And he entered the household in much the same way, for John had a sense of the fitness of things. He had always kept himself neat and clean, but he became immaculate now. He dined with Roger the first night, but early the next morning he went down to the kitchen and breakfasted there; and from this time on, unless he were especially urged to come up to the dining room, John took all his meals downstairs. The maids were Irish⁠—so was John. They were good Catholics⁠—so was John. They loved the movies⁠—so did John. In short, it worked out wonderfully. In less than a month John had made himself an unobtrusive and natural part of the life of Roger’s sober old house. It had had to stretch just a little, no more.</p>
+			<p>And sensible it turned out to be. When John first heard about it, he was apparently quite overcome, and there followed a brief awkward pause while he rapidly blinked the joy from his eyes. But then he said, “Fine, thank you. That’s mighty good of you, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gale,” in as matter of fact a tone as you please. And he entered the household in much the same way, for John had a sense of the fitness of things. He had always kept himself neat and clean, but he became immaculate now. He dined with Roger the first night, but early the next morning he went down to the kitchen and breakfasted there; and from this time on, unless he were especially urged to come up to the dining room, John took all his meals downstairs. The maids were Irish⁠—so was John. They were good Catholics⁠—so was John. They loved the movies⁠—so did John. In short, it worked out wonderfully. In less than a month John had made himself an unobtrusive and natural part of the life of Roger’s sober old house. It had had to stretch just a little, no more.</p>
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@@ -36,15 +36,15 @@
 			<p>Roger slightly raised his brows. He noticed a faint delicious perfume that irritated him suddenly. But glancing again at his daughter, trim, fresh and so immaculate, the joy of life barely concealed in her eyes, he stopped and talked and smiled at her, as Deborah was doing, enjoying her beauty and her youth, her love and all her happiness. And though they spoke of her sister, she knew they were thinking of herself, and that it was quite right they should, for it gave them a little relief from their gloom. She was honestly sorry for Edith, but she was sorrier still for Bruce, who she knew had always liked her more than he would have cared to say. She was sorrier for Bruce because, while Edith had lost only her husband, Bruce had lost his very life. And life meant so much to Laura, these days, the glowing, coursing, vibrant life of her warm beautiful body. She was thinking of that as she stood in the hall.</p>
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 			<p>In the evening, at home in his study, Roger heard a slight knock at the door. He looked up and saw John.</p>
-			<p>“May I come in, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gale, for a minute?”</p>
+			<p>“May I come in, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gale, for a minute?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, my boy.” John hobbled in.</p>
 			<p>“Only a minute.” His voice was embarrassed. “Just two or three things I thought of,” he said. “The first was about your son-in-law. You see, I was his stenographer⁠—and while I was in his office⁠—this morning helping Doctor Baird⁠—I found a good deal I can do there still⁠—about things no one remembers but me. So I’ll stay there awhile, if it’s all right. Only⁠—” he paused⁠—“without any pay. See what I mean?”</p>
 			<p>“Yes, I see,” said Roger. “And you’d better stay⁠—in that way if you like.”</p>
 			<p>“Thanks,” said John. “Then about his wife and family. You’re to take them up to the mountains, I hear⁠—and⁠—well, before this happened you asked <em>me</em> up this summer. But I guess I’d better not.”</p>
 			<p>“I don’t think you’d be in the way, my boy.”</p>
 			<p>“I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind. When I’m through in your son-in-law’s office I thought I might go back to yours. I could send you your mail every two or three days.”</p>
 			<p>“I’d like that, John⁠—it will be a great help.”</p>
-			<p>“All right, <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gale.” John stopped at the door. “And Miss Deborah,” he ventured. “Is she to get married just the same?”</p>
+			<p>“All right, <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mr.</abbr> Gale.” John stopped at the door. “And Miss Deborah,” he ventured. “Is she to get married just the same?”</p>
 			<p>“Oh, yes, I think so⁠—later on.”</p>
 			<p>“Good night, sir.”</p>
 			<p>And John went out of the room.</p>