(All that Salonica boasted)
Played upon the flames in trickles,
Did about as much to quench them
As a mug of tepid water
Does to quench the thirst of soldiers
In a boiling Balkan summer.
“Going some,” said Tiadatha,
“Better hop back to the Splendide,
Heaven and earth aren’t going to stop it.”
So they raced back to the Splendide,