Mark Twain, of course; yes. O. Henry, doubtless, too. And, indeed, in the matter of years O. Henry might very well be living now. Mr. Chesterton quite agreed as to the English welcome of Mark Twain or of O. Henry. Tom Sawyer and Huck, he said musingly, certainly were "universal." Then, ponderingly, he observed that English and American literature seemed to be getting farther and farther apart, or more and more distinct each from the other. That is, he remembered that when he was a boy his father and his uncles simply spoke of a new book having come out whether it had been written in England or in the United States. As in the case of the "Autocrat of the Breakfast Table": when it appeared it was enjoyed and talked about by everybody in England; but not spoken of there as a new American book: it was a new book, that's all. Now, however, with Englishmen impressed by the "Spoon River Anthology," "and rightly so," or by "Main Street," "it would not be that way." He had much liking for O. Henry. But he had begun by not liking him. He had been puzzled by the "queer commercial deals" on which so many of the stories turned--"buying towns, selling rivers." He had, even now, to re-read much of the slang to get the meaning. And so we talked awhile of slang. "You have an expression here," said Mr. Chesterton, shaking his head as though that were something very remarkable indeed, "_a bad actor_" Much mirth from Woollcott, Lee and Holliday. "Now in England," Mr. Chesterton continued, "we mean by that one who has mistaken his vocation as to the stage. But I discovered that here it has nothing to do with the theatrical profession." Then, it developed, some reporter in the West had referred to him as "a regular guy." At first Mr. Chesterton had been for going after the fellow with a stick.... Certainly a topsy-turvy land, the United States, where you can't tell opprobrium from flattering compliment. Then one of us told Mr. Chesterton a story of a prize line of American slang. He (the teller of the story) had got a letter in which a friend of his had been spoken of in a highly eulogistic fashion. Thinking this opinion of him would please his friend this man showed the letter to him. The gentleman so much praised in it read the letter and remarked: "Well, whenever I get the hand I always see the red light." Mr. Chesterton looked dazed. "You'll have to translate that to me," he said. It was explained to him that the meaning of this was that whenever this person heard applause of himself he always scented danger. "Oh, oh! I see!" crowed Mr. Chesterton, "the hand, the hand," and he began clapping his hands in illustration of the figure with much glee.