Oliver! And now we'll wash away the sanguinary traces of our combat
and allay our noble rage with a mug of cider."

And thus, giving and receiving hard knocks, we continued to be the
best of friends.

These years brought changes in their train. One day Joshua Vetch,
Cyrus' father, died suddenly of an apoplectic fit, brought on, folk
said, by disappointment at Mr. Adderton the draper being elected
mayor over his head. And then it was found that, so far from being
wealthy as was supposed, he had been for years living beyond his
means, being ably assisted in his expenditure by Cyrus. His affairs
were in great disorder; Cyrus himself was totally unprovided for,
and but for his uncle, John Vetch, a reputable attorney of our
town, who took pity on him, and gave him articles, God knows what
would have become of him.

At this change of fortune I could not but remember how, years
before, he had sneered at me as a "charity brat." I fancy he
remembered it too, for when I met him face to face one day, as I
returned from school, coming out of his uncle's office, he flushed
deeply and then gave me such a look of hatred that I felt uneasy
for days after.

Cyrus had never borne a good name in Shrewsbury, and after his
father's death he seemed to grow reckless. Dick Cludde was still at
college, though I never heard that he did any good there, and in
the vacations he and Cyrus consorted much together, and became in
fact the ringleaders of a wild set whose doings were a scandal in
Shrewsbury for many a day. Cludde, it seemed, had made a jaunt to