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When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,
"sir"--this "sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself
to avoid collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind
to give me a passage on this boat. But, though my means will not admit
of my expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share--"

"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.

"But, if I insist--"

"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. "This enters into my general expenses."

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward,
where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was
in high hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would
reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded
that he counted upon it. The crew set to work in good earnest,
inspired by the reward to be gained. There was not a sheet
which was not tightened not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted;
not a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm. They worked
as desperately as if they were contesting in a Royal yacht regatta.

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been
accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able
to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in which case,
the many misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London
would not seriously affect his journey.

The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate
the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours
of the night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very
rough in the straits, full of eddies formed by the counter-currents,
and the chopping waves broke her course, whilst it became very difficult
to stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens
seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change,
the mercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also,
in the south-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest.
The sun had set the evening before in a red mist,
in the midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,
muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a low voice
to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honour?"

"Of course."

"Well, we are going to have a squall."

"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.

"South. Look! a typhoon is coming up."

"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward."

"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothing more to say."
John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed. At a less advanced season of the year
the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist, would have passed away
like a luminous cascade of electric flame; but in the winter equinox
it was to be feared that it would burst upon them with great violence.

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