From an East London standpoint, the room I rented for six shillings, or a dollar and a half, per week, was a most comfortable affair.

From the American standpoint, on the other hand, it was rudely furnished, uncomfortable, and small.

By the time I had added an ordinary typewriter table to its scanty furnishing, I was hard put to turn around; at the best, I managed to navigate it by a sort of vermicular progression requiring great dexterity and presence of mind.
Having settled myself, or my property rather, I put on my knockabout clothes and went out for a walk.

Lodgings being fresh in my mind, I began to look them up, bearing in mind the hypothesis that I was a poor young man with a wife and large family.
My first discovery was that empty houses were few and far between--so far between, in fact, that though I walked miles in irregular circles over a large area, I still remained between.

Not one empty house could I find--a conclusive proof that the district was "saturated." It being plain that as a poor young man with a family I could rent no houses at all in this most undesirable region, I next looked for rooms, unfurnished rooms, in which I could store my wife and babies and chattels.