The answer came with an enormous shrug of the shoulders.
"You are serving the Sultan.

Hardship should be sweet!" "I should be more fit to serve him if I got more sleep and rest." He waved a fat hand about the tent.
"Look at me! Here I am, an officer of rank and"-- shooting a knowing look at me--"I have not even a nice blanket." "A crime! A crime!" I interrupted.

"To think of it, when I, a humble soldier, have dozens of them at home! I should be honored if you would allow me--" My voice trailed off suggestively.
"How could you get one ?" he asked.
"Oh, I have friends here in Saffed but I _must_ be able to sleep in a nice place." "Of course; certainly.

What would you suggest ?" "That hotel kept by the Jewish widow might do," I replied.
More amenities were exchanged, the upshot of which was that my four friends and I were given permission to sleep at the inn--a humble place, but infinitely better than the mosque.

It was all perfectly simple.
[ILLUSTRATION: SOLDIERS' TENTS IN SAMARIA].