Part 11

Indian Summer St. Martin's Summer

instalment-business credit-trade

instalment-plan hire-purchase plan

janitor caretaker

legal-holiday bank-holiday

letter-box pillar-box

letter-carrier postman

livery-stable mews[1]

locomotive engineer engine-driver

lumber deals

mad angry

Methodist Wesleyan

molasses treacle

monkey-wrench spanner

moving-picture-theatre cinema

napkin (dinner) serviette

necktie tie, or cravat

news-dealer news-agent

newspaper-man pressman, or journalist

oatmeal porridge

officeholder public-servant

orchestra (seats in a theatre) stalls

overcoat great-coat

package parcel

parlor drawing-room

parlor-car saloon-carriage

patrolman (police) constable

pay-day wage-day

peanut monkey-nut

pie (fruit) tart

pitcher jug

poorhouse workhouse

post-paid post-free

potpie pie

prepaid carriage-paid

press (printing) machine

program (of a meeting) agenda

proof-reader corrector-of-the-press

public-school board-school

quotation-marks inverted-commas

railroad railway

railroad-man railway-servant

rails line

rare (of meat) underdone

receipts (in business) takings

Rhine-wine Hock

road-bed (railroad) permanent-way

road-repairer road-mender

roast joint

roll-call division

rooster cock

round-trip-ticket return-ticket

rutabaga mangel-wurzel

saleswoman shop-assistant

saloon public-house

scarf-pin tie-pin

scow lighter

sewer drain

shirtwaist blouse

shoe boot

shoemaker bootmaker

shoestring bootlace

shoe-tree boot-form

sick ill

sidewalk pavement

silver (collectively) plate

sled sledge

sleigh sledge

soft-drinks minerals

spigot tap

squash vegetable-marrow

stem-winder keyless-watch

stockholder shareholder

stocks shares

store-fixtures shop-fittings

street-cleaner crossing-sweeper

street-railway tramway

subway tube, or underground

suspenders (men's) braces

sweater jersey

switch (noun, railway) points

switch (verb, railway) shunt

taxes (municipal) rates

taxpayer (local) ratepayer

tenderloin (of beef) under-cut

ten-pins nine-pins

thumb-tack drawing-pin

ticket-office booking-office

tinner tinker

tin-roof leads

track (railroad) line

trained-nurse hospital-nurse

transom (of door) fanlight

trolley-car tramcar

truck (vehicle) lorry

truck (of a railroad car) bogie

trunk box

typewriter (operator) typist

typhoid-fever enteric

undershirt vest

vaudeville-theatre music-hall

vegetables greens

vest waistcoat

warden (of a prison) governor

warehouse stores

wash-rag face-cloth

wash-stand wash-hand-stand

wash-wringer mangle

waste-basket waste-paper-basket

whipple-tree[2] splinter-bar

witness-stand witness-box

wood-alcohol methylated-spirits

[Pg102]

§ 2

/Differences in Usage/--The differences here listed, most of them between words in everyday employment, are but examples of a divergence in usage which extends to every department of daily life. In his business, in his journeys from his home to his office, in his dealings with his family and servants, in his sports and amusements, in his politics and even in his religion the American uses, not only words and phrases, but whole syntactical constructions, that are unintelligible to the Englishman, or intelligible only after laborious consideration. A familiar anecdote offers an example in miniature. It concerns a young American woman living in a region of prolific orchards who is asked by a visiting Englishman what the residents do with so much fruit. Her reply is a pun: "We eat all we can, and what we can't we can." This answer would mystify nine Englishmen out of ten, for in the first place it involves the use of the flat American /a/ in /can't/ and in the second place it applies an unfamiliar name to the vessel that every Englishman knows as a /tin/, and then adds to the confusion by deriving a verb from the substantive. There are no such things as /canned-goods/ in England; over there they are /tinned/. The /can/ that holds them is a /tin/; /to can/ them is /to tin/ them.... And they are counted, not as /groceries/, but as /stores/, and advertised, not on /bill-boards/ but on /hoardings/.[3] And the cook who prepares them for the table is not /Nora/ or /Maggie/, but /Cook/, and if she does other work in addition she is not a /girl for general housework/, but a /cook-general/, and not /help/, but a /servant/. And the boarder who eats them is not a /boarder/ at all, but a /paying-guest/, though he is said /to board/. And the grave of the tin, once it is emptied, is not the /ash-can/, but the /dust-bin/, and the man who carries it away is not the /garbage-man/ or the /ash-man/ or the /white-wings/, but the /dustman/.

An Englishman, entering his home, does not walk in upon the [Pg103] /first floor/, but upon the /ground floor/. What he calls the /first floor/ (or, more commonly, /first storey/, not forgetting the penultimate /e/!) is what we call the /second floor/, and so on up to the roof--which is covered not with /tin/, but with /slate/, /tiles/ or /leads/. He does not /take/ a paper; he /takes in/ a paper. He does not ask his servant, "is there any /mail/ for me?" but, "are there any /letters/ for me?" for /mail/, in the American sense, is a word that he seldom uses, save in such compounds as /mail-van/ and /mail-train/. He always speaks of it as /the post/. The man who brings it is not a /letter-carrier/, but a /postman/. It is /posted/, not /mailed/, at a /pillar-box/, not at a /mail-box/. It never includes /postal-cards/, but only /post-cards/; never /money-orders/, but only /postal-orders/. The Englishman dictates his answers, not to a /typewriter/, but to a /typist/; a /typewriter/ is merely the machine. If he desires the recipient to call him by telephone he doesn't say, "/phone me/ at a quarter /of/ eight," but "/ring me up/ at a quarter /to/ eight." And when the call comes he says "/are you there?/" When he gets home, he doesn't find his wife waiting for him in the /parlor/ or /living-room/,[4] but in the /drawing-room/ or in her /sitting-room/, and the tale of domestic disaster that she has to tell does not concern the /hired-girl/ but the /slavey/ and the /scullery-maid/. He doesn't bring her a box of /candy/, but a box of /sweets/. He doesn't leave a /derby/ hat in the hall, but a /bowler/. His wife doesn't wear /shirtwaists/ but /blouses/. When she buys one she doesn't say "/charge it/" but "/put it down/." When she orders a /tailor-made suit/, she calls it a /coat-and-skirt/. When she wants a /spool of thread/ she asks for a /reel of cotton/. Such things are bought, not in the /department-stores/, but at the /stores/, which are substantially the same thing. In these stores /calico/ means a plain cotton cloth; in the United States it means a printed cotton cloth. Things bought on the instalment plan in England are said to be bought on the /hire-purchase/ plan or system; the instalment business itself is the /credit-trade/. Goods ordered by /post/ (not mail) on which the dealer pays the cost of transportation are said to be sent, not /postpaid/ or /prepaid/, but /post-free/ or /carriage-paid/. [Pg104]

An Englishman does not wear /suspenders/ and /neckties/, but /braces/ and /cravats/. /Suspenders/ are his wife's garters; his own are /sock-suspenders/. The family does not seek sustenance in a /rare tenderloin/ and /squash/, but in /underdone under-cut/ and /vegetable marrow/. It does not eat /beets/, but /beet-roots/. The wine on the table, if miraculously German, is not /Rhine wine/, but /Hock/.... The maid who laces the stays of the mistress of the house is not /Maggie/ but /Robinson/. The nurse-maid is not /Lizzie/ but /Nurse/. So, by the way, is a trained nurse in a hospital, whose full style is not /Miss Jones/, but /Nurse Jones/. And the hospital itself, if private, is not a hospital at all, but a /nursing-home/, and its trained nurses are plain /nurses/, or /hospital nurses/, or maybe /nursing sisters/. And the white-clad young gentlemen who make love to them are not /studying medicine/ but /walking the hospitals/. Similarly, an English law student does not study law, but /the/ law.

If an English boy goes to a /public school/, it is not a sign that he is getting his education free, but that his father is paying a good round sum for it and is accepted as a gentleman. A /public school/ over there corresponds to our /prep school/; it is a place maintained chiefly by endowments, wherein boys of the upper classes are prepared for the universities. What we know as a /public school/ is called a /board school/ in England, not because the pupils are boarded but because it is managed by a school board. English school-boys are divided, not into /classes/, or /grades/, but into /forms/, which are numbered, the lowest being the /first form/. The benches they sit on are also called /forms/. The principal of an English school is a /head-master/ or /head-mistress/; the lower pedagogues used to be /ushers/, but are now /assistant masters/ (or /mistresses/). The head of a university is a /chancellor/. He is always some eminent public man, and a /vice-chancellor/ performs his duties. The head of a mere college may be a /president/, /principal/, /rector/, /dean/ or /provost/. At the universities the students are not divided into /freshmen/, /sophomores/, /juniors/ and /seniors/, as with us, but are simply /first-year men/, /second-year men/, and so on. Such distinctions, however, are not as important in England as in America; members of the university (they are called [Pg105] /members/, not /students/) do not flock together according to seniority. An English university man does not /study/; he /reads/. He knows nothing of /frats/, /class-days/, /senior-proms/ and such things; save at Cambridge and Dublin he does not even have a /commencement/. On the other hand his daily speech is full of terms unintelligible to an American student, for example, /wrangler/, /tripos/, /head/, /pass-degree/ and /don/.

The upkeep of board-schools in England comes out of the /rates/, which are local taxes levied upon householders. For that reason an English municipal taxpayer is called a /ratepayer/. The functionaries who collect and spend his money are not /office-holders/ but /public-servants/. The head of the local police is not a /chief of police/, but a /chief constable/. The fire /department/ is the fire /brigade/. The /street-cleaner/ is a /crossing-sweeper/. The parish /poorhouse/ is a /workhouse/. If it is maintained by two or more parishes jointly it becomes a /union/. A pauper who accepts its hospitality is said to be /on the rates/. A policeman is a /bobby/ familiarly and /constable/ officially. He is commonly mentioned in the newspapers, not by his surname, but as /P. C. 643a/--/i. e./, Police Constable No. 643a. The /fire laddie/, the /ward executive/, the /roundsman/, the /strong-arm squad/ and other such objects of American devotion are unknown in England. An English saloon-keeper is officially a licensed /victualler/. His saloon is a /public house/, or, colloquially, a /pub/. He does not sell beer by the /bucket/ or /can/ or /growler/ or /schooner/, but by the /pint/. He and his brethren, taken together, are the /licensed trade/. His back-room is a /parlor/. If he has a few upholstered benches in his place he usually calls it a /lounge/. He employs no /bartenders/ or /mixologists/. /Barmaids/ do the work, with maybe a /barman/ to help.

The American language, as we have seen, has begun to take in the English /boot/ and /shop/, and it is showing hospitality to /head-master/, /haberdasher/ and /week-end/, but /subaltern/, /civil servant/, /porridge/, /moor/, /draper/, /treacle/, /tram/ and /mufti/ are still strangers in the United States, as /bleachers/, /picayune/, /air-line/, /campus/, /chore/, /scoot/, /stogie/ and /hoodoo/ are in England. A /subaltern/ is a commissioned officer in the army, under the rank of [Pg106] captain. A /civil servant/ is a public servant in the national civil service; if he is of high rank, he is usually called a /permanent official/. /Porridge/, /moor/, /scullery/, /draper/, /treacle/ and /tram/, though unfamiliar, still need no explanation. /Mufti/ means ordinary male clothing; an army officer out of uniform is said to be in /mufti/. To this officer a sack-suit or business-suit is a /lounge-suit/. He carries his clothes, not in a /trunk/ or /grip/ or /suit-case/, but in a /box/. He does not /miss/ a train; he /loses/ it. He does not ask for a /round-trip/ ticket, but for a /return/ ticket. If he proposes to go to the theatre he does not /reserve/ or /engage/ seats; he /books/ them, and not at the /box-office/, but at the /booking-office/. If he sits downstairs, it is not in the /orchestra/, but in the /stalls/. If he likes vaudeville, he goes to a /music-hall/, where the /head-liners/ are /top-liners/. If he has to stand in line, he does it, not in a /line/, but in a /queue/.

In England a corporation is a /public company/ or /limited liability company/. The term /corporation/, over there, is applied to the mayor, aldermen and sheriffs of a city, as in /the London corporation/. An Englishman writes /Ltd./ after the name of an incorporated bank or trading company as we write /Inc./ He calls its president its /chairman/ or /managing director/. Its stockholders are its /shareholders/, and hold /shares/ instead of /stock/ in it. Its bonds are /debentures/. The place wherein such companies are floated and looted--the Wall Street of England--is called the /City/, with a capital /C/. Bankers, stock-jobbers, promoters, directors and other such leaders of its business are called /City/ men. The financial editor of a newspaper is its /City/ editor. Government bonds are /consols/, or /stocks/, or the /funds/.[5] To have /money in the stocks/ is to own such bonds. Promissory notes are /bills/. An Englishman hasn't a /bank-account/, but a /banking-account/. He draws /cheques/ (not /checks/), not on his /bank/, but on his /bankers/.[6] In England there is a rigid distinction between a /broker/ and a /stock-broker/. A /broker/ means, not a dealer in [Pg107] securities, as in our /Wall Street broker/, but a dealer in second-hand furniture. /To have the brokers/[7] /in the house/ means to be bankrupt, with one's very household goods in the hands of one's creditors.

/Tariff reform/, in England, does not mean a movement toward free trade, but one toward protection. The word /Government/, meaning what we call the administration, is always capitalized and plural, /e. g./, "The Government /are/ considering the advisability, etc." /Vestry/, /committee/, /council/, /ministry/ and even /company/ are also plural, though sometimes not capitalized. A member of Parliament does not /run/ for office; he /stands/.[8] He does not make a /campaign/, but a /canvass/. He does not represent a /district/, but a /division/ or /constituency/. He never makes a /stumping trip/, but always a /speaking tour/. When he looks after his fences he calls it /nursing the constituency/. At a political meeting (they are often rough in England) the /bouncers/ are called /stewards/; the suffragettes used to delight in stabbing them with hatpins. A member of Parliament is not afflicted by the numerous bugaboos that menace an American congressman. He knows nothing of /lame ducks/, /pork barrels/, /gag-rule/, /junkets/, /gerrymanders/, /omnibus bills/, /snakes/, /niggers in the woodpile/, /Salt river/, /crow/, /bosses/, /ward heelers/, /men higher up/, /silk-stockings/, /repeaters/, /ballot-box stuffers/ and /straight/ and /split tickets/ (he always calls them /ballots/ or /voting papers/). He has never heard of /direct primaries/, the /recall/ or the /initiative and referendum/. A /roll-call/ in Parliament is a /division/. A member speaking is said to be /up/ or /on his legs/. When the house adjourns it is said to /rise/. A member referring to another in the course of a debate does not say "the gentleman from Manchester," but "the /honorable/ gentleman" (written /hon. gentleman/) or, if he happens to be a privy councillor, "the /right honorable/ gentleman," or, if he is a member for one of the universities, "the /honorable and learned/ gentleman." If the speaker chooses to be intimate or facetious, he may say "my honorable /friend/." [Pg108]

In the United States a /pressman/ is a man who runs a printing press; in England he is a newspaper reporter, or, as the English usually say, a /journalist/.[9] This journalist works, not at /space/ rates, but at /lineage/ rates. A printing press is a /machine/. An editorial in a newspaper is a /leading article/ or /leader/. An editorial paragraph is a /leaderette/. A newspaper clipping is a /cutting/. A proof-reader is a /corrector of the press/. A pass to the theatre is an /order/. The room-clerk of a hotel is the /secretary/. A real-estate agent or dealer is an /estate-agent/. The English keep up most of the old distinctions between physicians and surgeons, barristers and solicitors. A surgeon is often plain /Mr./, and not /Dr./ Neither he nor a doctor has an /office/, but always a /surgery/ or /consulting room/. A barrister is greatly superior to a solicitor. He alone can address the higher courts and the parliamentary committees; a solicitor must keep to office work and the courts of first instance. A man with a grievance goes first to his solicitor, who then /instructs/ or /briefs/ a barrister for him. If that barrister, in the course of the trial, wants certain evidence removed from the record, he moves that it be /struck out/, not /stricken out/, as an American lawyer would say. Only barristers may become judges. An English barrister, like his American brother, takes a /retainer/ when he is engaged. But the rest of his fee does not wait upon the termination of the case: he expects and receives a /refresher/ from time to time. A barrister is never admitted to the bar, but is always /called/. If he becomes a /King's Counsel/, or /K. C./ (a purely honorary appointment), he is said to have /taken silk/.

The common objects and phenomena of nature are often differently named in English and American. As we saw in a previous chapter, such Americanisms as /creek/ and /run/, for small streams, are practically unknown in England, and the English /moor/ and /downs/ early disappeared from American. The Englishman knows the meaning of /sound/ (/e. g./, Long Island /Sound/), but he [Pg109] nearly always uses /channel/ in place of it. In the same way the American knows the meaning of the English /bog/, but rejects the English distinction between it and /swamp/, and almost always uses /swamp/, or /marsh/ (often elided to /ma'sh/). The Englishman seldom, if ever, describes a severe storm as a /hurricane/, a /cyclone/, a /tornado/ or a /blizzard/. He never uses /cold-snap/, /cloudburst/ or /under the weather/. He does not say that the temperature is /29 degrees/ (Fahrenheit) or that the thermometer or the mercury is at 29 degrees, but that there are /three degrees of frost/. He calls ice water /iced-water/. He knows nothing of /blue-grass/ country or of /pennyr'yal/. What we call the /mining regions/ he knows as the /black country/. He never, of course, uses /down-East/ or /up-State/. Many of our names for common fauna and flora are unknown to him save as strange Americanisms, /e. g./, /terrapin/, /moose/, /persimmon/, /gumbo/, /egg-plant/, /alfalfa/, /sweet-corn/, /sweet-potato/ and /yam/. Until lately he called the /grapefruit/ a /shaddock/. He still calls the /beet/ a /beet-root/ and the /rutabaga/ a /mangel-wurzel/. He is familiar with many fish that we seldom see, /e. g./, the /turbot/. He also knows the /hare/, which is seldom heard of in America. But he knows nothing of /devilled-crabs/, /crab-cocktails/, /clam-chowder/ or /oyster-stews/, and he never goes to /oyster-suppers/, /clam-bakes/ or /burgoo-picnics/. He doesn't buy /peanuts/ when he goes to the circus. He calls them /monkey-nuts/, and to eat them publicly is /infra dig/. The common American use of /peanut/ as an adjective of disparagement, as in /peanut politics/, is incomprehensible to him.

In England a /hack/ is not a public coach, but a horse let out at hire, or one of similar quality. A life insurance policy is usually not an insurance policy at all, but an /assurance/ policy. What we call the normal income tax is the /ordinary/ tax; what we call the surtax is the /supertax/.[10] An Englishman never lives /on/ a street, but always /in/ it. He never lives in a /block/ of houses, but in a /row/; it is never in a /section/ of the city, but always in a /district/. Going home by train he always takes the /down-train/, no matter whether he be proceeding southward to Wimbleton, [Pg110] westward to Shepherd's Bush, northward to Tottenham or eastward to Noak's Hill. A train headed toward London is always an /up-train/, and the track it runs on is the /up-line/. /Eastbound/ and /westbound/ tracks and trains are unknown in England. When an Englishman boards a bus it is not at a /street-corner/, but at a /crossing/, though he is familiar with such forms as Hyde Park /Corner/. The place he is bound for is not three /squares/ or /blocks/ away, but three /turnings/. /Square/, in England, always means a small park. A backyard is a /garden/. A subway is always a /tube/, or the /underground/, or the /Metro/. But an underground passage for pedestrians is a /subway/. English streets have no /sidewalks/; they always call them /pavements/ or /footways/. An automobile is always a /motor-car/ or /motor/. /Auto/ is almost unknown, and with it the verb /to auto/. So is /machine/. So is /joy-ride/.