“Stop, sir!” said Antipholus, checking his rapid flow of words. “Tell me this, I pray: where have you left the money I gave you?”
“O—sixpence that I had on Wednesday last to pay the saddler for my mistress’s crupper? The saddler had it, sir; I did not keep it.”
“I am not in a sportive humour now,” said Antipholus sternly, for he knew that Dromio was a merry fellow, who loved a jest. “Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dare you trust so great a charge out of your own custody?”
But Dromio persisted that Antipholus had given him no money, and kept on begging him to come home to his wife, who was waiting dinner for him at the Phœnix. Antipholus, at last quite losing his temper at what he imagined was his servant’s impertinence, fell on him and began to beat him, whereupon Dromio took to his heels and disappeared.
“Upon my life,” thought Antipholus, “the villain has been over-reached of all my money. They say this town is full of trickery—such as simple jugglers who deceive the eye, sorcerers and witches, disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, and many such-like sinners. If it prove so, I will the sooner be gone. I’ll go to the Centaur to seek this slave. I greatly fear my money is not safe.”
Adriana, meanwhile, was greatly annoyed with her husband for not returning, and it was useless for her sister Luciana to counsel patience. When Dromio came back, and instead of bringing his master reported his strange behaviour, Adriana became more incensed than ever.
“Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home,” she commanded angrily.
“Go back again, and be new beaten home?” said poor Dromio. “For heaven’s sake, send some other messenger.”
“Hence, prating peasant, fetch thy master home,” cried the irate lady, threatening to strike him.
Dromio thought it discreet to obey, but he went off grumbling.