Mr. Phileas Fogg was a mystery. No one knew how he had made his fortune, but there was no doubt that he was rich.
He was in his forties, tall, well-built, with handsome features.
He had light hair, pale skin, and excellent teeth.
He was one of the most prominent members of London's Reform Club, and yet he attracted little attention.
It was clear to those who knew him that Phileas Fogg was a traveler.
He was familiar with the world and knew the details of even the most remote areas of the earth.
It was also certain, however, that Mr. Fogg had not left London in many years.
He lived a quiet single life with no wife or children to keep him company, and his daily routine never changed.
On October 2, 1872, Mr. Fogg sat squarely in his armchair in his mansion on Savile Row.
His hands were resting on his knees, and his body was straight.
He was watching a complicated clock that told the seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, and years all at once.
A knock sounded at the front door, and before long, Mr. Fogg's servant, who was leaving that day, appeared.
"The new servant is here to see you, sir," he said.
Then a young man about thirty years old entered the room and bowed.
"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?"
"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer.
"My name is Jean Passepartout. My surname suits me because I have a natural ability to move from one business to another.
I believe I'm honest, monsieur, and I've had several jobs.
I've been a singer, a circus acrobat, a tight-rope walker, a gymnastics teacher, and finally, a fireman in Paris."
"Well, Mr. Passepartout," said Mr. Fogg, "you have been well recommended to me.
I have heard good reports about you."
"Thank you, monsieur," said Passepartout. "I wish now to enjoy a quiet domestic life as a valet here in England.
I have heard that you are a most exact and settled gentleman, so I have come in the hope of living a tranquil life.
Maybe I will even forget the name of Passepartout."
"You know my conditions?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Yes, monsieur," said Passepartout.
"Good! What time is it?" asked Mr. Fogg.
Taking a huge silver watch from his pocket, Passepartout replied, "Twenty-five minutes after eleven."
"Your watch is slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible," said Passepartout.
"It is four minutes too slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"No matter. It's enough only to mention the error.
Now from this moment, 29 minutes after 11 a.m., this Wednesday, the second of October, you are in my service."
Mr. Fogg stood up, and without a further word, he put on his hat and left.
Every day, at exactly 11:30 a.m., Mr. Fogg left his house and walked to the Reform Club.
He was so precise that he never appeared to be rushed or agitated in any way.
He was the most deliberate person in the world and always reached his destination at the very moment that he was due.
At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house on Savile Row.
He began an inspection and was pleased to find the house clean and arranged neatly.
When Passepartout reached the second floor, he recognized at once the room that was meant for him.
Hanging over the clock above the fireplace was the daily routine of the house, written on a card.
It explained Passepartout's duties, from eight in the morning, when Mr. Fogg got up, until half-past eleven, when Mr. Fogg left for his club.
It explained the tea and toast at 8:23, the shaving water at 9:37, and the washcloth, soap, and washbowl at 9:40.
In Mr. Fogg's closet each pair of pants, coat, and vest had a number on it.
This indicated the time of year and the season when it would be worn.
Mr. Fogg used the same system for his shoes as well.
Having inspected the house from top to bottom, Passepartout rubbed his hands together.
"This is just what I wanted!" he said.
"We will get along well together, Mr. Fogg and I!"
Meanwhile Mr. Phileas Fogg had put his right foot before his left foot 575 times
and his left foot before his right foot 576 times and reached the Reform Club.
He immediately went into the dining room and took his place at his usual table, which had already been set for him.
Phileas Fogg's lunch consisted of a broiled fish with sauce and a slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms.
He also ate a rhubarb and gooseberry tart and a morsel of Cheshire cheese.
The entire meal was washed down with several cups of tea.
Mr. Fogg rose at thirteen minutes to one and went into the large hall.
He found his regular chair in his regular corner and happily sat down to pass the afternoon as he did every day:
quietly reading the newspapers amidst the comfortable and lavish surroundings of his club.
Hello. I am Jean Passepartout, and the year is 1872, during the Victorian Era.
London is the largest and most modern city on earth.
Its streets are very crowded with people and horse-drawn carriages.
Below the streets, trains, which were invented less than fifty years ago, travel through the London Underground.
A lot of great scientific discovery has occurred lately.
At night London's streets are now lit by gas lamps.
If you have an urgent message to send, you can send it by electronic wire, using Morse code.
Perhaps you've heard of Morse code? It uses a series of dots and dashes to relay information.
London is the capital not only of England but also of the vast British Empire.
Queen Victoria rules over almost one-quarter of the earth's land.
People often say, "The sun never sets on the British Empire."
That's because it's always daytime in at least one of the Queen's territories.