Around the World in Eighty Days

by Jules Verne

Chapter I

Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Meet

Mr. Phileas Fogg lived in London.
The year was 1872.

He lived at No. 7, Saville Row.
He belonged to a club called the Reform Club.

Not many people knew Mr. Fogg well.
He was quiet.
He was a mystery to everyone.

People said he looked a bit like a poet named Byron.
But Mr. Fogg had a beard.
He looked calm all the time.

Was Mr. Fogg from London?
No one was quite sure.

He was never seen at the bank.
He did not own any ships.
He had no job that people knew of.
He was not a farmer.
He was not a scientist.

He belonged to just one club.
It was called the Reform Club.

He got into the club easily.
Some bankers spoke up for him.
He always had money in his account.

Was Mr. Fogg rich?
Yes, he was.

But no one knew how he got his money.
He did not spend money to show off.
He also was not stingy.

If money was needed for something good,
he gave it quietly.
Sometimes he did not even say it was from him.

Mr. Fogg talked very little.
This made him seem even more mysterious.

Every day, he did the exact same things.
This puzzled the people who watched him.

Had he traveled the world?
Maybe.
He seemed to know about every place.
He often knew facts about far-off lands.
He was almost always right.

But here is a strange thing.
Mr. Fogg had not left London in years.
No one had ever seen him anywhere else.

He liked two things only.
He liked reading newspapers.
He liked playing a card game called whist.

He often won money at whist.
But he never kept the money.
He gave it to charity instead.
He played just for the fun of the game.

Mr. Fogg had no wife.
He had no children.
He had no family that people knew of.
He had no close friends either.

He lived alone in his house.
One servant took care of him.

He ate breakfast and dinner at his club.
He ate at the very same time every day.
He sat at the very same table.
He never ate with other people.

Every night, he went home at midnight.
Then he went straight to bed.

He spent ten hours a day at home.
He slept or got dressed during that time.

When he took a walk, he walked in the club.
He walked the same path each time.

The club gave him fine food.
Servants brought him the best dishes.
His drinks were cooled with ice.
The ice came all the way from America.

Some might call this way of living odd.
But there was something nice about it too.

Mr. Fogg's house was comfy, not fancy.
He did not need much help.
But he wanted his servant to be very exact.

That very day, October 2nd, he had let his servant go.
The servant had brought shaving water that was the wrong warmth.
Mr. Fogg was waiting for a new servant.
The new servant should come between eleven and half-past.

Mr. Fogg sat very straight in his chair.
His feet were together.
His hands rested on his knees.
He watched a fancy clock.

The clock showed hours, minutes, and seconds.
It even showed the day, month, and year.

At half-past eleven, Mr. Fogg would leave for his club.
He did this every single day.

Someone knocked on the door.
James Forster, the old servant, walked in.

"The new servant," James said.

A young man, about thirty years old, stepped forward.
He bowed politely.

"You are French, I think," said Mr. Fogg.
"Your name is John?"

"Jean, if you please, sir," said the young man.
"Jean Passepartout.
People call me that because I have done many jobs.
I believe I am honest, sir.
I have been a singer.
I have been a circus rider.
I have taught gymnastics.
I have been a fireman in Paris.

I left France five years ago.
I wanted a calm life.
So I became a servant here in England.

I heard you are the most careful gentleman in England.
I came here hoping for a quiet life with you."

"Passepartout suits me fine," said Mr. Fogg.
"People speak well of you.
Do you know my rules?"

"Yes, sir," said Passepartout.

"Good. What time is it?"

"Eleven twenty-two," said Passepartout.
He pulled out a big silver watch.

"Your watch is too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

"But sir, that cannot be—"

"You are four minutes slow.
No matter.
From this moment, you work for me.
It is eleven twenty-nine, on Wednesday, October 2nd."

Mr. Fogg stood up.
He put on his hat.
He walked out without another word.

Passepartout heard the door shut once.
That was his new master leaving.

He heard the door shut again.
That was James Forster leaving too.

Now Passepartout was alone in the house.

Chapter II

Passepartout Thinks He Has Found the Perfect Home

"Well," said Passepartout, feeling a bit surprised, "I..."