Adventure stories; Voyages around the world -- Fiction
Mr. Fogg’s wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each pair
of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year
and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing; and
the same system was applied to the master’s shoes. In short, the house
in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder and
unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,
comfort, and method idealised. There was no study, nor were there
books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the
Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law
and politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his
bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but
Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;
everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.
Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a
broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, “This is
just what I wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I! What
a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don’t mind
serving a machine.”
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS
FOGG DEAR
Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,
and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and
seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and
seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall
Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions. He repaired
at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a
tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn
colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which
had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish,
a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef
garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel
of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of
tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at thirteen minutes to
one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous
apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. A flunkey handed him
an uncut _Times_, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed
familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal of this paper
absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the
_Standard_, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner
passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the
reading-room and sat down to the _Pall Mall_ at twenty minutes before
six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew
up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning. They were
Mr. Fogg’s usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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