NOTEBOOK

shame my judgment by believing a word of it. I
said nothing, however, but packed up a blanket
and a shawl to sleep in, pipes and tobacco, two or
three woolen shirts, a portfolio, a guide-book, and
a Bible. I also took along a towel and a cake of
soap, to inspire respect in the Arabs, who would
take me for a king in disguise.

But it all turned out as promised. If their live-
stock was not very sightly, the comforts were
beyond belief. The finishing touch that night was
when their serving-men spread carpets in their
tents.

I simply said: "If you call this camping out, all
right—but it isn't the style I am used to; my
little baggage that I brought along is at a dis-
count."

It grew dark and they put candles on the tables
—candles set in bright, new, brazen candlesticks.
And soon the bell—a genuine, simon-pure bell—
rang, and we were invited to "the saloon." I had
thought before that we had a tent or so too many,
but now here was one, at least, provided for; it
was to be used for nothing but an "eating-saloon."
Like the others, it was high enough for a family
of giraffes to live in, and was very handsome and
clean and bright-colored within. It was a gem of
a place. A table for eight, and eight canvas chairs;
a tablecloth and napkins whose whiteness and
whose fineness laughed to scorn the things we
were used to in the great excursion steamer;
knives and forks, soup plates, dinner plates—
everything in the handsomest kind of style. It
was wonderful! And they call this camping out.
Those stately fellows in baggy trousers and tur-
baned fezes brought in a dinner which consisted

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