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CHAPTER 4
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."
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