After lunch at the Olympus (Prices higher than the mountain), Off he sped to Baths of Botton, Tasted once again the pleasures Of a bath you can lie down in. Though the soap was green and hardy, Though the towels weren’t all they might be, Even though the place was dirty, It was better than a bucket. Good and hot he made the water, Lay and splashed for half-an-hour, Whistling snatches of a rag-time. Then of course he tea’d at Floca’s Cosmopolitan as Shepheard’s, Ever full to overflowing. In those days there came to Floca’s Officers of many armies, Officers of many navies, Mufti-wallahs of all nations. Came the Greeks (with swords beside them), Gold and scarlet as a sunset, Came the Italians with their grey cloaks, French with caps like skies in summer, Came the Serbs and came the Russians, Came the English, Jocks and Irish, Admirals, snotties and Commanders, Colonels, Generals and Captains, And a few bold bad Lieutenants Poodle-faking with some sisters. Here they met and fed together, Drank their mastic, tea or absinthe, Talked their own peculiar language, Twenty tongues and yet one language: When they wanted their _addition_, Wanted their perspiring waiter, They just clapped their hands together, Loudly clapped their hands together, Two or three or even four times. And in good time came the waiter, Dodging round the crowded tables, As a cycling newsboy dodges In and out of London traffic, Added tip into the total, Just for fear they should forget it. After tea a bit more shopping, And perhaps a Picture Palace (Fifteen suicides and murders In the space of half-an-hour). Then he dined at Bastasini’s, Dined at the expensive Roma, With his very best pal Percy; Drank some pretty nasty bubbly, Sat and watched the other diners Wrestling with their macaroni, Watched a livery Greek major (More and more and more impatient For the omelette he had ordered) Break a plate upon the table, Dash one on the floor in pieces, Then another and another, Till the room was in an uproar, Till he’d got the whole staff round him. “Stout old heart,” cheered Tiadatha, “Go it, Steve,” cheered Tiadatha, “That’s the only way to do it If you’re really in a hurry.” After dinner off they sallied To the Odéon or Tour Blanche (Where you never paid but pushed past), Crowded in the nearest stage-box, Or if it was locked climbed over.