IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER,

THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN

Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington

Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of

the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed

always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage,

about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man

of the world. People said that he resembled Byron--at least

that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron,

who might live on a thousand years without growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg

was a Londoner. He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank,

nor in the counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into

London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment;

he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple,

or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded

in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench,

or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer;

nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange

to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known

to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution

or the London Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the

Institution of Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact,

to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital,

from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly

for the purpose of abolishing pernicious insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club

was simple enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.

His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,

which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him

best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg

was the last person to whom to apply for the information. He was

not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew

that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose,

he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was, in short,

the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed

all the more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits

were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly

the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits

of the curious were fairly puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know

the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded

that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it.

He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures

advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travellers,

pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with

a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions.

He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself

from London for many years. Those who were honoured by a better

acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could

pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes

were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game,

which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings

never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.

Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing.

The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty,

yet a motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children,

which may happen to the most honest people; either relatives

or near friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone

in his house in Saville Row, whither none penetrated. A single

domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club,

at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table,

never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing

a guest with him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire

at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform

provides for its favoured members. He passed ten hours out of the

twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his toilet.

When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step in the

entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery

with its dome supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns,

and illumined by blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined

all the resources of the club--its kitchens and pantries,

its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table with their most

succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,

in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered

the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen;

club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry,

his port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages

were refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost

from the American lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be

confessed that there is something good in eccentricity.

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable.

The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the

sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly

prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed

James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water

at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six;

and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house

between eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together

like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees,

his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated

clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days,

the months, and the years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would,

according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where

Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared.

"The new servant," said he.

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?"

"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,

a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness

for going out of one business into another. I believe I'm honest,

monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades. I've been

an itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,

and dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics,

so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman

at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France

five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life,

took service as a valet here in England. Finding myself out of place,

and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled

gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope

of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name

of Passepartout."

"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well recommended

to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Good! What time is it?"

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout,

drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it's enough to mention

the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m.,

this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on

his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new

master going out. He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor,

James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained

alone in the house in Saville Row.

Chapter II

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL

"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people

at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much

visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been

carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age,

with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure;

his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled,

his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent. His countenance possessed

in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action,"

a quality of those who act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic,

with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English

composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas.

Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being

perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.

Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed

even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as

in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready,

and was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took

one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut;

he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated.

He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his

destination at the exact moment.

He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation;

and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction,

and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he

had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet,

he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.

Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by

Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was

an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding,

soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one

likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue,

his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built,

his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the

exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was somewhat tumbled;

for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known eighteen methods

of arranging Minerva's tresses, Passepartout was familiar with but one of

dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would agree

with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant

would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required;

experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout had been

a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose;

but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served

in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of these;

with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,

constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure.

His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament,

after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often

brought home in the morning on policemen's shoulders. Passepartout,

desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild

remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave.

Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life

was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed

from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.

He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in

the house in Saville Row. He begun its inspection without delay,

scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged,

solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell,

lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes.

When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised at once

the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.

Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with

the lower stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock,

precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's bedchamber, both beating

the same second at the same instant. "That's good, that'll do,"

said Passepartout to himself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection,

proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house.

It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning,

exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past eleven,

when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of service,

the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-water

at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty minutes before ten.

Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done from

half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at which the

methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.

Each pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number,

indicating the time of year and season at which they were

in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the same system

was applied to the master's shoes. In short, the house

in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder

and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,

comfort, and method idealised. There was no study, nor were there books,

which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform

two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law and politics,

were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom,

constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but Passepartout

found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere; everything betrayed

the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands,

a broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully,

"This is just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together,

Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman!

A real machine; well, I don't mind serving a machine."

Chapter III

IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST

PHILEAS FOGG DEAR

Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and

having put his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot

before his right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club,

an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost less than

three millions. He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows

of which open upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded

with an autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table,

the cover of which had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted

of a side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of

roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart,

and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with

several cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at

thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the large hall,

a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings.

A flunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut

with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation.

The perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four,

whilst the Standard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour.

Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the

reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.

Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up

to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.

They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer;

John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer;

and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--

all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which

comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"

"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands

on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the

principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll

be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."

"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.

"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph, positively.

"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no robber?"

"No."

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."

"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who

made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation.

The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurred

three days before at the Bank of England. A package of banknotes, to the

value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principal

cashier's table, that functionary being at the moment engaged in registering

the receipt of three shillings and sixpence. Of course, he could not have

his eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank of England reposes

a touching confidence in the honesty of the public. There are neither guards

nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely

exposed, at the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English customs

relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the

curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds.

He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man,

and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end

of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour. Meanwhile,

the cashier had not so much as raised his head. But in the present instance

things had not gone so smoothly. The package of notes not being found when

five o'clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the "drawing office,"

the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon as

the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool,

Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by

the proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum

that might be recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching

those who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination

was at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,

that the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day

of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners,

and with a well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro

in the paying room where the crime was committed. A description

of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and some

hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.

The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were

discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club

was especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely

to be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly

stimulate their zeal and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing

this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table,

they continued to argue the matter. Stuart and Flanagan played together,

while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner. As the game proceeded

the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers, when it revived again.

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the

thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."

"Well, but where can he fly to?" asked Ralph. "No country is safe for him."

"Pshaw!"

"Where could he go, then?"

"Oh, I don't know that. The world is big enough."

"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. "Cut, sir,"

he added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its thread.

"What do you mean by `once'? Has the world grown smaller?"

"Certainly," returned Ralph. "I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world

has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly

than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief

will be more likely to succeed."

"And also why the thief can get away more easily."

"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the

hand was finished, said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph,

of proving that the world has grown smaller. So, because you

can go round it in three months--"

"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.

"That is true, gentlemen," added John Sullivan. "Only eighty days,

now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the

Great Indian Peninsula Railway, has been opened.

Here is the estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:

From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and

Brindisi, by rail and steamboats ................. 7 days

From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13 "

From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ................... 3 "

From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13 "

From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer ..... 6 "

From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22 "

From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7 "

From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9 "

----

Total ............................................ 80 days."

"Yes, in eighty days!" exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement

made a false deal. "But that doesn't take into account bad weather,

contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on."

"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play

despite the discussion.

"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,"

replied Stuart; "suppose they stop the trains, pillage

the luggage-vans, and scalp the passengers!"

"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the cards,

"Two trumps."

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on:

"You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"

"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."

"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."

"It depends on you. Shall we go?"

"Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds

that such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."

"Quite possible, on the contrary," returned Mr. Fogg.

"Well, make it, then!"

"The journey round the world in eighty days?"

"Yes."

"I should like nothing better."

"When?"

"At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense."

"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at

the persistency of his friend. "Come, let's go on with the game."

"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg. "There's a false deal."

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly

put them down again.

"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so: I will wager

the four thousand on it."

"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin. "It's only a joke."

"When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart, "I mean it." "All right,"

said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued:

"I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring's which

I will willingly risk upon it."

"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan. "Twenty thousand pounds,

which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"

"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible

time in which the journey can be made."

"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."

"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically

from the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon

the trains again."

"I will jump--mathematically."

"You are joking."

"A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is talking about so

serious a thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly.

"I will bet twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes

that I will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less;

in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen

thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?"

"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan,

Flanagan, and Ralph, after consulting each other.

"Good," said Mr. Fogg. "The train leaves for Dover at a

quarter before nine. I will take it."

"This very evening?" asked Stuart.

"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and

consulted a pocket almanac, and added, "As today is Wednesday,

the 2nd of October, I shall be due in London in this very room of

the Reform Club, on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter

before nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds,

now deposited in my name at Baring's, will belong to you,

in fact and in right, gentlemen. Here is a cheque for the amount."

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by

the six parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical

composure. He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked

the twenty thousand pounds, half of his fortune, because he

foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry out

this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for his

antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value

of their stake, as because they had some scruples about betting

under conditions so difficult to their friend.

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the

game so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response. "Diamonds are trumps:

be so good as to play, gentlemen."

Chapter IV

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends,

Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties,

was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness

of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule,

he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, "Passepartout!"

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called;

it was not the right hour.

"Passepartout!" repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

"I've called you twice," observed his master.

"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.

"I know it; I don't blame you. We start for Dover and Calais

in ten minutes."

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face;

clearly he had not comprehended his master.

"Monsieur is going to leave home?"

"Yes," returned Phileas Fogg. "We are going round the world."

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows,

held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse,

so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.

"Round the world!" he murmured.

"In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg. "So we haven't a moment to lose."

"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying

his head from right to left.

"We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts

and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you.

We'll buy our clothes on the way. Bring down my mackintosh

and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall

do little walking. Make haste!"

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out,

mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered:

"That's good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.

Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No.

Was this a joke, then? They were going to Dover; good!

To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who had

been away from France five years, would not be sorry

to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they would

go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once more.

But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt--

but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away,

this so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,

containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then,

still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room,

and descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound

copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,

with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways.

He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of

Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might go.

"You have forgotten nothing?" asked he.

"Nothing, monsieur."

"My mackintosh and cloak?"

"Here they are."

"Good! Take this carpet-bag," handing it to Passepartout.

"Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds

were in gold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked,

and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly

to Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station

at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box

and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman,

was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman,

with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud,

her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather,

and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached,

and mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist,

and handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman.

I'm glad that I met you;" and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes;

his master's action touched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased,

Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived

his five friends of the Reform.

"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I'm off, you see; and, if you

will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able

to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon."

"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph politely.

"We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour."

"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked Stuart.

"In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872,

at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen."

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage

at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed,

and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.

Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.

Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction,

clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,

Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"Alas! In my hurry--I--I forgot--"

"What?"

"To turn off the gas in my room!"

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; "it will burn--

at your expense."

Chapter V

IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO THE MONEYED MEN,

APPEARS ON 'CHANGE

Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London

would create a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the

bet spread through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic

of conversation to its members. From the club it soon got into

the papers throughout England. The boasted "tour of the world"

was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if the

subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with Phileas

Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and declared

against him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the

tour of the world could be made, except theoretically and on paper,

in this minimum of time, and with the existing means of travelling.

The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and twenty other

highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr. Fogg's project as madness;

the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly supported him. People in general

thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having

accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question,

for geography is one of the pet subjects of the English;

and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly

devoured by all classes of readers. At first some rash individuals,

principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause, which became

still more popular when the Illustrated London News came out

with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club.

A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say,

"Why not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass."

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin

of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from

every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed

alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of departure

and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success.

He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours,

in Europe, where the distances were relatively moderate; but when

he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and the United States

in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his task?

There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line,

collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow--were not all these against

Phileas Fogg? Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter,

at the mercy of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers

to be two or three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to

fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss,

even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,

and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into

all the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are

of a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament.

Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers

for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as if

he were a race-horse. Bonds were issued, and made their appearance on 'Change;

"Phileas Fogg bonds" were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business

was done in them. But five days after the article in the bulletin of the

Geographical Society appeared, the demand began to subside: "Phileas Fogg"

declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five, then of ten,

until at last nobody would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only advocate

of Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was fastened to his chair,

would have given his fortune to be able to make the tour of the world,

if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg.

When the folly as well as the uselessness of the adventure was pointed out

to him, he contented himself with replying, "If the thing is feasible,

the first to do it ought to be an Englishman."

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him,

and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one;

and a week after his departure an incident occurred which deprived him

of backers at any price.

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock

one evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his hands:

Suez to London.

Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:

I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send with out delay warrant

of arrest to Bombay.

Fix, Detective.

The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The polished gentleman

disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His photograph, which was

hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club,

was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature,

the description of the robber which had been provided to the police.

The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways,

his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour

round the world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view

than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

Chapter VI

IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE

The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about

Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company,

built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five hundred

horse-power, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of October,

at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via

the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers belonging to the company,

always making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez,

and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.

Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd

of natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village--

now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was

the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the

English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson,

was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English ships

daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old roundabout

route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was abridged

by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-built personage,

with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out

from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.

He was just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience,

nervously pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.

This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been dispatched from England

in search of the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every

passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to

be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description

of the criminal, which he had received two days before from the

police headquarters at London. The detective was evidently inspired

by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward which would be the prize

of success, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to understand,

the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.

"So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this steamer

is never behind time?"

"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was bespoken yesterday at Port Said,

and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft. I repeat that

the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by the company's

regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of speed."

"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"

"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there,

and she left there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix;

she will not be late. But really, I don't see how, from the

description you have, you will be able to recognise your man,

even if he is on board the Mongolia."

"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul,

than recognises them. You must have a scent for them,

and a scent is like a sixth sense which combines hearing,

seeing, and smelling. I've arrested more than one of these gentlemen

in my time, and, if my thief is on board, I'll answer for it;

he'll not slip through my fingers."

"I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."

"A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds!

We don't often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so

contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!"

"Mr. Fix," said the consul, "I like your way of talking, and hope

you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy.

Don't you see, the description which you have there has

a singular resemblance to an honest man?"

"Consul," remarked the detective, dogmatically, "great robbers

always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces

have only one course to take, and that is to remain honest;

otherwise they would be arrested off-hand. The artistic thing is,

to unmask honest countenances; it's no light task, I admit,

but a real art."

Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-conceit.

Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated;

sailors of various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs,

bustled to and fro as if the steamer were immediately expected.

The weather was clear, and slightly chilly. The minarets of the town

loomed above the houses in the pale rays of the sun. A jetty pier,

some two thousand yards along, extended into the roadstead.

A number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining

the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,

scrutinised the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

It was now half-past ten.

"The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock struck.

"She can't be far off now," returned his companion.

"How long will she stop at Suez?"

"Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen hundred

and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea,

and she has to take in a fresh coal supply."

"And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"

"Without putting in anywhere."

"Good!" said Fix. "If the robber is on board he will no doubt

get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in

Asia by some other route. He ought to know that he would not be

safe an hour in India, which is English soil."

"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd.

An English criminal, you know, is always better concealed

n London than anywhere else."

This observation furnished the detective food for thought,

and meanwhile the consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone,

was more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the

robber was on board the Mongolia. If he had indeed left London

intending to reach the New World, he would naturally take the

route via India, which was less watched and more difficult

to watch than that of the Atlantic. But Fix's reflections were

soon interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced

the arrival of the Mongolia. The porters and fellahs rushed

down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the shore to go

and meet the steamer. Soon her gigantic hull appeared passing

along between the banks, and eleven o'clock struck as she anchored

in the road. She brought an unusual number of passengers,

some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama

of the town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats,

and landed on the quay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face

and figure which made its appearance. Presently one of

the passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through the

importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely asked if

he could point out the English consulate, at the same time showing

a passport which he wished to have visaed. Fix instinctively took

the passport, and with a rapid glance read the description

of its bearer. An involuntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him,

for the description in the passport was identical with that of the

bank robber which he had received from Scotland Yard.

"Is this your passport?" asked he.

"No, it's my master's."

"And your master is--"

"He stayed on board."

"But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to establish his identity."

"Oh, is that necessary?"

"Quite indispensable."

"And where is the consulate?"

"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to

a house two hundred steps off.

"I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be much pleased, however,

to be disturbed."

The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.

Chapter VII

WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS

AS AIDS TO DETECTIVES

The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to

the consul's office, where he was at once admitted to the presence

of that official.

"Consul," said he, without preamble, "I have strong reasons

for believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia."

And he narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.

"Well, Mr. Fix," replied the consul, "I shall not be sorry to

see the rascal's face; but perhaps he won't come here--that is,

if he is the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn't quite

like to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides,

he is not obliged to have his passport countersigned."

"If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come."

"To have his passport visaed?"

"Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks,

and aiding in the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite

the thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport."

"Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse."

"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to

arrest him from London."

"Ah, that's your look-out. But I cannot--"

The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was heard

at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the servant

whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his master,

held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him

the favour to visa it. The consul took the document and carefully read it,

whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes

from a corner of the room.

"You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?" said the consul, after reading the passport.

"I am."

"And this man is your servant?"

"He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout."

"You are from London?"

"Yes."

"And you are going--"

"To Bombay."

"Very good, sir. You know that a visa is useless, and that no passport

is required?"

"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg; "but I wish to prove,

by your visa, that I came by Suez."

"Very well, sir."

The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which

he added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee,

coldly bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.

"Well?" queried the detective.

"Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man," replied the consul.

"Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul,

that this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature,

the robber whose description I have received?"

"I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions--"

"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix. "The servant seems

to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman,

and can't help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul."

Fix started off in search of Passepartout.

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to

the quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to

the Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his cabin.

He took up his note-book, which contained the following memoranda:

"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.

"Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.

"Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.

"Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.

"Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.

"Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.

"Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m.

"Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.

"Total of hours spent, 158+; or, in days, six days and a half."

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,

indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the

stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris,

Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama,

San Francisco, New York, and London--from the 2nd of October

to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down

the gain made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality.

This methodical record thus contained an account of everything needed,

and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was behind-hand or in advance

of his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez,

and observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost.

He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once thinking

of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont

to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.

Chapter VIII

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT

Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about

on the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged

not to see anything.

"Well, my friend," said the detective, coming up with him,

"is your passport visaed?"

"Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?" responded Passepartout.

"Thanks, yes, the passport is all right."

"And you are looking about you?"

"Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream.

So this is Suez?"

"Yes."

"In Egypt?"

"Certainly, in Egypt."

"And in Africa?"

"In Africa."

"In Africa!" repeated Passepartout. "Just think, monsieur,

I had no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I

saw of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty

minutes before nine in the morning, between the Northern and

the Lyons stations, through the windows of a car, and in a

driving rain! How I regret not having seen once more Pere la Chaise

and the circus in the Champs Elysees!"

"You are in a great hurry, then?"

"I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and shirts.

We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag."

"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want."

"Really, monsieur, you are very kind."

And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly

as they went along.

"Above all," said he; "don't let me lose the steamer."

"You have plenty of time; it's only twelve o'clock."

Passepartout pulled out his big watch. "Twelve!" he exclaimed;

"why, it's only eight minutes before ten."

"Your watch is slow."

"My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from

my great-grandfather! It doesn't vary five minutes in the year.

It's a perfect chronometer, look you."

"I see how it is," said Fix. "You have kept London time,

which is two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate

your watch at noon in each country."

"I regulate my watch? Never!"

"Well, then, it will not agree with the sun."

"So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong, then!"

And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a

defiant gesture. After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed:

"You left London hastily, then?"

"I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening,

Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour

afterwards we were off."

"But where is your master going?"

"Always straight ahead. He is going round the world."

"Round the world?" cried Fix.

"Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us,

I don't believe a word of it. That wouldn't be common sense.

There's something else in the wind."

"Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?"

"I should say he was."

"Is he rich?"

"No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new

banknotes with him. And he doesn't spare the money on the way,

either: he has offered a large reward to the engineer of the

Mongolia if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time."

"And you have known your master a long time?"

"Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London."

The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious

and excited detective may be imagined. The hasty departure

from London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg;

his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an

eccentric and foolhardy bet--all confirmed Fix in his theory.

He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really

knew little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary

existence in London, was said to be rich, though no one knew

whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable

in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg

would not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.

"Pretty far. It is a ten days' voyage by sea."

"And in what country is Bombay?"

"India."

"In Asia?"

"Certainly."

"The deuce! I was going to tell you there's one thing that worries me--

my burner!"

"What burner?"

"My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at

this moment burning at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur,

that I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly

sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the longer

our journey--"

Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout's trouble about the gas?

It is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a project.

Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion

to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer,

and hurried back to the consulate. Now that he was fully convinced,

Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.

"Consul," said he, "I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted my man.

He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world

in eighty days."

"Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on

returning to London after putting the police of the two countries

off his track."

"We'll see about that," replied Fix.

"But are you not mistaken?"

"I am not mistaken."

"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa,

that he had passed through Suez?"

"Why? I have no idea; but listen to me."

He reported in a few words the most important parts

of his conversation with Passepartout.

"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this man.

And what are you going to do?"

"Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched

instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the Mongolia, follow my rogue

to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant

in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder."

Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective

took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office,

whence he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office.

A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand,

proceeding on board the Mongolia; and, ere many moments longer,

the noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.

Chapter IX

IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS

TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG

The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred

and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the

steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it.

The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer,

seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination

considerably within that time. The greater part of the passengers

from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta

by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses

the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials

and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached

to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops,

and receiving high salaries ever since the central

government has assumed the powers of the East India Company:

for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400 pounds,

and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds. What with the military men,

a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable

efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia.

The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast,

lunch, dinner, and the eight o'clock supper, and the ladies

scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours

were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long

and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast

the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies

speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing

suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind

or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg

doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would

be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging

of the billows--every chance, in short, which might force the Mongolia

to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey. But, if he thought

of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no

incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers,

and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed

through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference;

did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which,

along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky;

and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old

historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient

navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.

How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia? He made his

four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling

and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably,

for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself.

A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith,

returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army,

who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and,

with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals

conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage,

for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes

through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion

that his master's whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after

leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked

and chatted on the quays.

"If I am not mistaken," said he, approaching this person, with his most

amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered

to guide me at Suez?"

"Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange Englishman--"

"Just so, monsieur--"

"Fix."

"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on board.

Where are you bound?"

"Like you, to Bombay."

"That's capital! Have you made this trip before?"

"Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company."

"Then you know India?"

"Why yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.

"A curious place, this India?"

"Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers,

snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the sights."

"I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not

to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train,

and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour

of the world in eighty days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure,

will cease at Bombay."

"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural

tone in the world.

"Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it's the sea air.

"But I never see your master on deck."

"Never; he hasn't the least curiosity."

"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days

may conceal some secret errand--perhaps a diplomatic mission?"

"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it,

nor would I give half a crown to find out."

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit

of chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain

the worthy man's confidence. He frequently offered him a glass

of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout

never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing

Fix the best of good fellows.

Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th,

Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing,

was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.

Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that,

with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense

coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait

of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears, and the

next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour,

to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious

one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular

Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year. In these

distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse

before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at

Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen,

did not affect Phileas Fogg's programme; besides, the Mongolia,

instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due,

arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport

again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured,

Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,

according to custom, sa