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."
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