AME

"Bet he won't come back!" said Sam.

"Well, he might."

"Well, if he does and he hasn't got any horn, I got a right to call him
anything I want to, and he's got to stand it. And if he doesn't come
back," Sam continued, as by the code, "then I got a right to call him
whatever I like next time I ketch him out."

"I expect he'll have SOME kind of ole horn, maybe," said Penrod.

"No," the skeptical Sam insisted, "he won't."

But Roddy did. Twenty minutes elapsed, and both the waiting boys had
decided that they were legally entitled to call him whatever they
thought fitting, when he burst in, puffing; and in his hands he bore a
horn. It was a "real" one, and of a kind that neither Penrod nor Sam had
ever seen before, though they failed to realize this, because its shape
was instantly familiar to them. No horn could have been simpler: it
consisted merely of one circular coil of brass with a mouthpiece at
one end for the musician, and a wide-flaring mouth of its own, for the
noise, at the other. But it was obviously a second-hand horn; dents
slightly marred it, here and there, and its surface was dull, rather
greenish. There were no keys; and a badly faded green cord and tassel
hung from the coil.

Even so shabby a horn as this electrified Penrod. It was not a
stupendous horn, but it was a horn, and when a boy has been sighing for
the moon, a piece of green cheese will satisfy him, for he can play that
it is the moon.

"Gimme that HORN!" Penrod shouted, as he dashed for it.

"YAY!" Sam cried, and sought to wrest it from him. Roddy joined the
scuffle, trying to retain the horn; but Penrod managed to secure it.
With one free hand he fended the others off while he blew into the
mouthpiece.

"Let me have it," Sam urged. "You can't do anything with it. Lemme take
it, Penrod."

"No!" said Roddy. "Let ME! My goodness! Ain't I got any right to blow my
own horn?"

They pressed upon Penrod, who frantically fended and frantically blew.
At last he remembered to compress his lips, and force the air through
the compression.

A magnificent snort from the horn was his reward. He removed his lips
from the mouthpiece, and capered in pride.

"Hah!" he cried. "Hear that? I guess _I_ can't play this good ole horn!
Oh, no!"

During his capers, Sam captured the horn. But Sam had not made the best
of his opportunities as an observer of bands; he thrust the mouthpiece
deep into his mouth, and blew until his expression became