He scratched a match on his thigh, and led the way up.

March was sorry for him, and he put his fingers on a quarter in his waistcoat-pocket to give him at parting.

At the same time, he had to trump up an objection to the flat.

This was easy, for it was advertised as containing ten rooms, and he found the number eked out with the bath-room and two large closets.
"It's light enough," said March, "but I don't see how you make out ten rooms." "There's ten rooms," said the man, deigning no proof.
March took his fingers off the quarter, and went down-stairs and out of the door without another word.

It would be wrong, it would be impossible, to give the man anything after such insolence.