Shylock put down his box of papers and quills, picked up my hat and fitted it back on my head, then picked up his box and stood there, blocking the alley, which was only a bit wider than a man’s shoulders. He raised a grizzled eyebrow at me. “What is your grudge with Antonio?”

“No,” said I. “What is your grudge with Antonio, and how do you think it will be settled by giving him three thousand ducats?”

“I am your employer, and I did not reveal you to Antonio and his friends,” said Shylock.

“Well, I have your wine and your daughter’s shoes.”

“I am a man of means and can buy more wine and shoes, but if you do not tell me, you will have no place to sleep tonight and no food to eat.”

“Well, I’ll have a bloody hogshead of wine to myself,” said I.

“Fine, as the tailor said to the broke and naked knight, suit yourself.” He turned and strode off down the alley.

Is that where that saying comes from? Seems I should have known that. Shylock receded down the alley. As he was about to go around the corner I blurted, “He killed my wife and he tried to kill me—left me chained in a dungeon to die. He does not know I survived.”

Shylock looked over his shoulder. “Antonio did this?”

“He and two others.”

Shylock nodded. “Come. Bring my wine.”

“Now you.”

“We don’t call it a hogshead,” said Shylock.

“What does it matter?”

“A Jew would not call it a hogshead. Mind your disguise.”

“Why do you risk your ducats?”

“They are not my ducats. My friend Tubal will supply the loan.”

“But to the point, your grudge with Antonio?”

“If I tell you that Antonio has earned my hatred, would you be satisfied?”

“It strains not my imagination that Antonio earns your hate, but for three thousand ducats you could hire a choir of cutthroats to remove him.”