When any friend of mine is in trouble I always make a point of writing and
asking if there is anything I can do. As a rule, there isn't, but it is a
satisfaction to me to know I have made the offer. When I heard that Filmer
was leaving his spacious house and grounds at Hampstead, selling half his
furniture and moving into a third storey flat at Battersea, I wrote at
once. I received in reply one of his usual barely decipherable scrawls:
"Yes, old dear, you might find a home for my raven; it's ancient and a bit
rusty, but lots of life in it yet. I'm parting with all my garden things."
I busied myself about the matter at once. When a man you have known and
respected for years is driven by high prices and income-tax to vacate a
beautiful home and asks such a simple thing of you as to find a shelter for
his bird, you like to do your best. Personally I knew nothing of ravens,
but I recognized the inadequacy of my garden for the accommodation of a
bird of any kind, therefore I could not think of taking it. But I had a
surface acquaintance with the owner of a carriage drive, and I approached
him without delay. He was cold in his manner and said with so many calls
upon him he could not see his way to contribute towards the expense of
Filmer's move, although he had no doubt, from my representation, that it
was a deserving case.
The misunderstanding arose from my leading up to the object of my visit
gradually instead of coming to the point at once and asking him to give a
comfortable home to a raven. When I explained further he unbent and said he
would think it over.