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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 Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--
all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which
comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"

"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands
on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the
principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll
be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."

"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.

"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph, positively.

"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no robber?"

"No."

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then.

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