Turning to the fire I observed to my friend:
“One seldom comes across a tripod nowadays, I suppose they are no longer used?”
“Well,” said he, “now you mention it, I don’t think I’ve seen more than two or three for years. One I saw at a pony fair in the New Forest, and I believe I have seen one or two in Kent, but real old genuine ones would most likely be valuable now just as old copper kettles are.”
DOUBLE TENT. WINTER.
“I know someone,” he continued, “who had a very old one, in fact it was too old to use, but it fetched a good bit o’ money, it was all hand-hammered, mind you. I shouldn’t ha’ sold it if it had been mine, but the woman as had it was hard up, and you don’t think much about anything when you’re hungry except satisfyin’ your belly, and there was kiddies wanting bread too.”
“But,” he added retrospectively, “now nearly all use the crane.”
The washing of the crockery being finished and the beds having been made, I could see that my friends would soon retire for the night; I therefore bade them good night and wended my way homeward. As I passed now a tent, now a van, cheery voices rang out:
“Good night, who is it?”