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.