George felt for a note.
“Look here,” he said. “I want to see over this flat. I don’t care whether it’s taken or whether it isn’t. I think it’ll just suit me—provided the floors are good.”
“They aren’t,” said the porter. “They’re rotten.”
George swallowed.
“Well, you let me see for myself. If you’re busy, you needn’t come. You won’t lose by it, you know,” and with that he fingered a note.
The porter leaned against the wall.
“Now, wot are you gettin’ at?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” said George indignantly. “I just want to see that flat. From what—what I’ve heard, it’ll suit me down to the ground.”
“But I tell you it’s took.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said George. “If it suits me I’ll square the other fellow somehow.”