Americans commonly tell us that theirs is the language of Shakespeare and Shakespearian England, and that they have in America the "well of English undefiled." But if they have any purely European English in that country it must be a curiosity. Shakespeare was a lingual junction, but we've both gone on a long way since then, and in our triangle the line subtending the Shakespearian angle gets longer and longer. O. Henry makes a character in one of his stories write a telegram in American phraseology, so that it shall be quite unintelligible to people who only know English:
His nibs skedaddled yesterday per jack-rabbit 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.—Bob.
This is not Shakespearian English, but of course it is not Shakespearian American. The worst of the contemporary language of America is that it is in the act of changing its skin. It is difficult to say what is permanent and what is merely eruptive and dropping. Such expressions as those italicised in the following examples are hardly permanent:
"One, two, three, cut it out and work for Socialism."
"I should worry and get thin as a lamp-post so that tramps should come and lean against me."
"Him with the polished dome."
"She hadn't been here two days before I saw her kissing the boss. Well, said I, that's going some."
"This is Number Nine of the Ibsen, highbrow series."
"Do you get me?"
"I'll put you wise."
"And how is your yoke-mate?"
"He thinks too much of himself: too much breathed on by girls."
"A low lot of wops and hunkies: white trash."
"Poor negroes; coloured trash."
"She is one good-looker."
"She is one sweetie."
"My! You have a flossy hat."
But I suppose "He is a white man" is permanent, and "Buy a postcard, it'll only set you back a nickel."
"She began to lay down the law: thus and so."
"Now beat it!"
"Roosevelt went ranching, that's how he got so husky."
"Is it far? It is only a little ways."
"Did they feed that to you?"
"When he started he was in a poor way, and carried in his hay in his arms, but now he is quite healed."
But the difference in speech is too widespread and too subtle to be truly indicated by this collection of examples, and the real vital growth of the language is independent of the flaming reds and yellows of falling leaves. In the course of conversation with Americans you hear plenty of turns of expression that are unfamiliar, and that are not merely the originality of the person talking. Thus in:
"How do they get on now they are married?"
"Oh, she has him feeding out of her hand,"
though the answer is clear it owes its form to the American atmosphere.
Or, again in:
"I suppose she's sad now he's gone?"
"Oh! He wasn't a pile of beans to her, believe me,"