ful that Mr. Seneca Sprague had
picked up and prepared to carry away, a direct poaching upon his
preserves.

Mr. Sprague had reclined on the soft grass under the wide-spreading tree
and filled his own stomach to repletion, as could be seen by the cores
thrown out in a circle about him. Billy Bumps had approached, eyed the
long hair of the "prophet" askance, and finally began to nibble.

The luxuriant growth of hair that the odd, old man had allowed to grow
for years, seemed to attract Billy Bumps' palate. Mr. Seneca Sprague
slept and Billy gently nibbled at the hair on one side of Seneca's head.

It was just at this moment that Tess and Dot spied the tableau. Billy
Bumps browsing on Seneca Sprague's hair was a sight to startle and amaze
anybody.

"O-o-oh!" gasped Dot again.

"Billy! you mustn't!" shrieked Tess, realizing that all of the
"prophet's" hair was in danger, and fearing, perhaps, that, snake-like,
Billy might be about gradually to draw the whole of Mr. Seneca Sprague
within his capacious maw.

"Billy! stop!" cried both girls together.

At this moment Mr. Sprague awoke. Between the shrieking of the little
girls and the activities of Mr. Sprague when he learned what was going
on, Billy Bumps' banquet was quite spoiled.

"Get out, you beast!" shouted the "prophet," but using most
unprophetical language. "Ow! ow! ouch!"

For Billy had no idea of losing what he had already masticated. He
pulled so hard that he drew Mr. Sprague over on his back, where he lay
with his legs kicking in the air, wild yells of surprise and pain
issuing from him.

Over the fence at the rear of the Corner House premises bobbed a flaxen
head, and a boyish voice shouted: "What's the matter, girls?"

"Oh, Neale O'Neil!" shrieked Dot. "Do come! Quick! Billy Bumps is eating
up Mr. Sneaker Sp'ague--and he's beginning at his hair."

CHAPTER IV

THE BASKET BALL TEAM IN TROUBLE

Billy Bumps backed away in time to escape the vigorous blow Neale O'Neil
aimed at him with the stick he had picked up. But the old goat had
managed to tear loose some of the hair on one side of the odd, old
fellow's head, and now stood contemplating the angry and excited
Sprague, with the hair hanging out of his mouth and mingling with his
own long beard.

"Shorn of my locks! shorn of my locks! Samson has lost his glory and
strength--yea, verily!" cried the owner of the hair, mournfully. "Yea,
how hath the mighty fallen and the people imagined a