A FANCY BIRD.
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.
Later he wrote:—
Re Raven.
"Dear Sir,—I have consulted an authority on this bird and find that its bad character has brought about its practical extinction in this country save in the mountain fastnesses of Wales and the craggy moors of Yorkshire. I also learn that its extended wings measure thirty-six inches on an average. I must decline to provide an asylum for such an extensive mass of depravity."
I confess I was discouraged and also somewhat shocked. I felt Filmer should have enlightened me more on the characteristics of his protégé. The episode taught me to avoid preamble in my next quest for a domicile. Also I thought it only right to express myself with absolute frankness. The address of a lady with a reputation for a love of animals was given to me, and I hastened to call upon her. She answered the door herself.
"Madam," I said, "may I ask you of your kind heart to give a home to an almost extinct bird of evil character about a yard across?"
She looked startled for a moment and then quietly closed the door.
I was still further discouraged. I felt bound in honour to comply, if possible, with Filmer's comparatively simple request. By chance I ran across Timberley, a man brimful of resource and suggestion. "You want a brewery," he said; "that's the milieu for a raven. To my mind no brewery is artistically complete without one. A raven hopping about the casks gives a je ne sais quoi, a cachet, to the premises. You should get an introduction to a manager."
With some difficulty I did, and I waited upon him in his private office. He seemed immersed in business and asked me to be seated in such a brusque manner that I had no alternative but to remain standing.
"I must apologise for trespassing upon your valuable time, but it has been suggested to me that no brewery is complete without a raven—" I began, stammering slightly from nervousness.
"Well, we've got one. What about it?" he said.
In face of this unlooked-for development I could do nothing but bow and retire.
After this third failure to house the bird I threw convention to the winds and took to accosting utter strangers in the street with, "Will you have a raven?" I went rides in trams and tubes and canvassed the passengers. "Not to-day, thank you," was the response, save in a few instances. One man invited me to ask him again and he would do me in. A lady to whom I propounded the query as we were descending the moving staircase side by side precipitated herself forward with such haste that but for the intervening travellers she must have fallen headlong to the bottom. The mother of a family to whom I appealed shook her head politely and said she was obliged to me for the offer, but it was hard enough to pay for butcher's meat; she couldn't afford poultry.
Then at last, all my efforts having failed, I reluctantly took my pen and wrote to Filmer. In reply I received another of his scrawls:—
"What's this about a raven? Don't let it grow on you. The Victory Croquet Club is taking my Roller, £7 carriage forward. I gave £3 10s. for it second-hand ten years ago.
"N.B.—I had great difficulty in reading your writing. Don't cultivate illegibility; it's tiresome for your friends."
NO, THIS IS NOT A CELEBRATED COMEDIAN TELLING A FUNNY STORY; IT'S MERELY A PRIVATE CITIZEN THREATENING TO REPORT TO THE PROFITEERING COMMITTEE.
"Referring to charges of drunkenness the Chairman said there were 13 men and five women fined for drunkenness and residing at Chiswick."—Local Paper.
To reside at Chiswick may be an eccentricity, but surely is not an offence.
Auctioneer. "Come, gents, how much for these dozen braces?"
Tommy. "Can't take more'n eleven, guv'nor. Lost my second-best evening trousers on the Somme."