Phileas Fogg Amazes His Servant Passepartout

Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

Phileas Fogg won twenty guineas at whist and said goodbye to his friends. At 7:25, he 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.

Passepartout had carefully studied his list of duties. He was more than surprised to see his master arrive at such an unusual hour, breaking his usual routine. According to the schedule, his master was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

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

Mr. Fogg went 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 did not answer. He could not be the one being called. It was not the right time.

“Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

“Passepartout!” Mr. Fogg repeated, without raising his voice.

Passepartout made his appearance.

Passepartout appeared.

“I’ve called you twice,” observed his master.

“I’ve called you twice,” his master said.

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

“But it’s not midnight,” the other replied, showing his watch.

“I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten minutes.”

“I know. I don’t blame you. We leave for Dover and Calais in ten minutes.”

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had not comprehended his master.

A puzzled grin spread across Passepartout’s round face. Clearly, he had not understood his master.

“Monsieur is going to leave home?”

“Are you going to leave home, sir?”

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

“Yes,” replied Phileas Fogg. “We are going around 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.

Passepartout's eyes widened. He raised his eyebrows and held up his hands. He seemed about to collapse, so overwhelmed was he with astonishment.

“Round the world!” he murmured.

“Around the world!” he murmured.

“In eighty days,” responded Mr. Fogg. “So we haven’t a moment to lose.”

“In eighty days,” said Mr. Fogg. “So we don’t have a moment to lose.”

“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head from right to left.

“But what about the trunks?” Passepartout gasped, shaking his head from side to side without realizing it.

“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!”

“We won’t take any trunks, just a travel bag. Pack two shirts and three pairs of socks for me, and the same for yourself. We’ll buy clothes along the way. Bring down my raincoat, traveling cloak, and some sturdy shoes, though we won’t do much walking. Hurry!”

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!”

Passepartout tried to answer, but couldn’t. He went out and upstairs to his room. He sank into a chair and muttered, “Well, that’s just great! And I wanted a quiet life!”

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!

He mechanically began preparing 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 had been away from France for five years. He would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris. It would do his eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman so reluctant to travel would stop there. No doubt. Still, the fact remained that this man, who had always stayed so close to home, was going away!

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.

By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the small carpetbag with his clothes and his master’s. Still troubled, he carefully closed his bedroom door and went downstairs 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.

Mr. Fogg was completely ready. Under his arm, he carried a red-bound copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide. Its timetables showed when steamships and trains arrived and departed. He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped in a large roll of Bank of England notes. The notes would be accepted wherever he went.

“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he.

“You haven't forgotten anything?” he asked.

“Nothing, monsieur.”

“Nothing, sir.”

“My mackintosh and cloak?”

“My raincoat and cloak?”

“Here they are.”

“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.”

“Good! Take this travel bag,” he said, handing it to Passepartout. “Take good care of it, because it contains twenty thousand pounds.”

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

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.

Master and servant went downstairs, and the front door was double-locked. At the end of Saville Row, they took a cab and drove quickly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped outside the railway station at twenty past eight. Passepartout jumped down from the driver’s seat and followed his master. After paying the driver, his master was about to enter the station when a poor beggar woman approached him. She held a child in her arms, and her bare feet were smeared with mud. She wore a shabby bonnet with a torn feather hanging from it, and a ragged shawl covered her shoulders. She sadly asked for money.

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.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist and handed them to the beggar. “Here you are, my good woman. I’m glad I met you,” he said, and walked on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s action touched his susceptible heart.

Passepartout’s eyes filled with tears. His master’s action had touched his sensitive 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.

After two first-class tickets to Paris were quickly purchased, Mr. Fogg crossed the station toward the train. On the way, he saw his five friends from the Reform Club.

“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.”

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “as you can see, I’m off. If you examine my passport when I get back, you can judge whether I completed the journey we agreed on.”

“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”

“Oh, that would be completely unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph politely. “We will trust your word as an honorable gentleman.”

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

“You haven't forgotten when you're due back in London, have you?” asked Stuart.

“In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

“In eighty days, on Saturday, December 21, 1872, at 8:45 p.m. Goodbye, 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.

Phileas Fogg and his servant took their seats in a first-class carriage at 8:40. Five minutes later, the whistle screamed, and the train slowly pulled 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.

The night was dark, and a light, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg sat comfortably in his corner and said nothing. Passepartout was still stunned and held on to the carpetbag and its enormous treasure without thinking.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

Just as the train was speeding through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly cried out in despair.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—”

“Oh no! In my hurry, I... I forgot...”

“What?”

“What?”

“To turn off the gas in my room!”

“To turn off the gas in my room!”

“Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will burn—at your expense.”

“Very well, young man,” Mr. Fogg replied calmly. “It will burn, and you will pay for it.”