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Read Ebook: Around the World in Eighty Days. Junior Deluxe Edition by Verne Jules
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Ebook has 1665 lines and 64538 words, and 34 pages
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other, the One as Master, the Other as Man
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has at Last Found His Ideal
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness of Passports as Aids to Detectives
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More, Perhaps, than Is Prudent
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof That Fortune Favors the Brave
In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges Some Thousands of Pounds More
In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand in the Least What is Said to Him
Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong
In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix Go Each about His Business
In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master, and What Comes of It
In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes, It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long
During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean
In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco
In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History
In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed in Making Anybody Listen to Reason
In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads
In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers the Interests of Phileas Fogg
In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune
In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London
In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More at a Premium on the Market
In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing by His Tour around the World Except Happiness
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. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention. This Phileas Fogg was a puzzling gentleman, about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People said that he resembled the poet Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, peaceful Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old.
Certainly Phileas Fogg was an Englishman, but it was more doubtful whether he 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 he ever pleaded 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.
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 checks were regularly paid at sight from his account current, which was always flush.
Had he traveled? 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 travelers, 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 traveled everywhere, at least in the spirit.
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not been away from London for many years. Those who were honored 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 quiet one, harmonized 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; neither relatives nor near friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his house in Saville Row, where none ever entered. A single servant 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. He went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favored 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 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 foods. He was served by the gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who presented 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 servant, 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 eleven.
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 go 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.
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