“Listen, can't you?” cried Roddy. “I mean he would most any time, but not this month. I can't have any money for a month beginning last Saturday, because I got paint on one of our dogs, and he came in the house with it on him, and got some on pretty near everything. If it hadn't 'a' been for that--” “Oh, yes!” said Sam. “If it hadn't 'a' been for that! It's always SUMPTHING!” “It is not!” “Well, then, why'n't you go GET a real horn?” Roddy's face had flushed with irritation. “Well, didn't I just TELL you--” he began, but paused, while the renewal of some interesting recollection became visible in his expression. “Why, I COULD, if I wanted to,” he said more calmly. “It wouldn't be a new one, maybe. I guess it would be kind of an old one, but--” “Oh, a toy horn!” said Sam. “I expect one you had when you were three years old, and your mother stuck it up in the attic to keep till you're dead, or sumpthing!” “It's not either any toy horn,” Roddy insisted. “It's a reg'lar horn for a band, and I could have it as easy as anything.” The tone of this declaration was so sincere that it roused the lethargic Penrod. “Roddy, is that true?” he sat up to inquire piercingly. “Of course it is!” Master Bitts returned. “What you take me for? I could go get that horn this minute if I wanted to.” “A real one--honest?” “Well, didn't I say it was a real one?” “Like in the BAND?” “I said so, didn't I?” “I guess you mean one of those little ones,” said Penrod. “No, sir!” Roddy insisted stoutly; “it's a big one! It winds around in a big circle that would go all the way around a pretty fat man.” “What store is it in?” “It's not in any store,” said Roddy. “It's at my Uncle Ethelbert's. He's got this horn and three or four pianos and a couple o' harps and--” “Does he keep a music store?” “No. These harps and pianos and all such are old ones--awful old.” “Oh,” said Sam, “he runs a second-hand store!” “He does not!” Master Bitts returned angrily. “He doesn't do anything. He's just got 'em. He's got forty-one guitars.” “Yay!” Sam whooped, and jumped up and down. “Listen to Roddy Bitts makin' up lies!” “You look out, Sam Williams!” said Roddy threateningly. “You look out how you call me names!” “What name'd I call you?” “You just the same as said I told lies. That's just as good as callin' me a liar, isn't it?” “No,” said Sam; “but I got a right to, if I want to. Haven't I, Penrod?” “How?” Roddy demanded hotly. “How you got a right to?” “Because you can't prove what you said.” “Well,” said Roddy, “you'd be just as much of one if you can't prove what I said WASN'T true.” “No, sir! You either got to prove it or be a liar. Isn't that so, Penrod. “Yes, sir,” Penrod ruled, with a little importance, “that's the way it is, Roddy.” “Well, then,” said Roddy, “come on over to my Uncle Ethelbert's, and I'll show you!”