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[5] Another student I knew, a man, knew that his roommate couldn't afford an important textbook in his subject; a book which was very scarce in second-hand shops and impossibly expensive when new. His friend was far too proud to accept a loan, and so spent a lot of time trekking to the library in the rain to look things up. So the better-off student went to Blackwell's bookshop in Oxford, bought a brand-new copy for 35 pounds, dirtied it up a bit and tore off the paper cover, writing a fictitious name in the front. He even remembered to age the ink by putting it over a radiator, and made a few dogears and faint pencil-marks against what he thought might be significant passages. Then he went home in triumph claiming to have spotted the book in the second-hand bookshop and "beaten them down to two quid". He even got a receipt for the money by buying himself another book at the same secondhand shop. Talk about doing good by stealth: and in case you wonder, I heard the story from the poorer roommate, who had got suspicious and, ten years later, forced the richer one to confess.
[6] Tact is the key to real generosity: tact, and real thought for the person you are giving the present to. You can buy anyone a picture by a fashionable and expensive artist, if you can afford it; but it might be kinder to spend a tenth of the amount--and a bit of trouble on getting the framed original of a cartoon you know has cheered them up at a bad time. Anyone can buy a man a gold watch; but it takes a generous wife to do what one lately did, and track down an antique gold strap which precisely fits the old one he inherited from his beloved father.
[7] Conversely, it is not generous to keep pressing expensive drinks on people who really want a half-pint of bitter. ("Co on! Have another! Tell you what, have a double brandy! The best brandy!" ) It is harassment. So is refusing to let someone pay their half of the taxi if it makes them feel small. Buying someone a bottle of the very best champagne when they don't particularly like champagne is pointless; so is giving them a negligee, or sweater, which you would like to see them in but which they are going to hate. Until courting couples learn this rule, girls will go on ending up with drawersful of unwearable slippery camisoles in lurid colours, and men with racks of acutely embarrassing ties. On the other hand, this kind of present does give the recipient an opportunity to show another kind of generosity by selflessly pretending to appreciate it. In the Agatha Christie novel The Hollow, Henrietta displays remarkable kindness towards a shy, unintellectual woman who isn't fitting in to a sparkling houseparty. Greta is wearing a dreadful cardigan she knitted herself; Henrietta not only praises it, but asks for the pattern. Having got the pattern, moreover, she heroically knits the dreadful thing and wears it herself next time she meets Greta. That is what I call follow-through. So is the wedding present a friend got from a broke but domestic sister-in-law: she promised to bake her a loaf of special, delicious wholemeal bread every week for the first year of her marriage, and did so.
[8] You can give people to other people, too. Matchmaking for single friends can be done in a disastrously tactless way which makes both parties cringe; but there are circumstances--not necessarily romantic ones--when a well-timed introduction can be the best thing you can do for anybody. The best present you can give to a woman expecting her first baby, for example, is to introduce her to another like-minded pregnant woman, who lives reasonably close by. They will keep one another sane for the first chaotic year. And if you do happen to be of the type who networks professionally, and gives power dinner-parties, it would be a generous thing to remember sometimes to invite younger people in the field, who are looking for jobs or contacts or merely for stimulation and inspiration. One of the kindest things anyone ever did for me was an elderly, very distinguished don who introduced me to the world's most encouraging literary agent when I was 21. He shouldn't have gone to all the trouble, I said blushingly; but I was glad he had. And that is the test of any real present: the thoughtfulness, not the wrapping.
