What a Trip! Read Free

going on inside his dome.
    â€œI am Phileas Fogg,” he stated.
    â€œGood day, sir!” said Passepartout. “I am—”
    Mr. Fogg held up his hand abruptly. “What is the proper temperature for shaving water?”
    â€œMan!” Frankie whispered to me. “A quiz already?”
    Passepartout blinked. “Eighty-six degrees.”
    â€œCorrect,” said Phileas Fogg. “You may enter.”
    He waved his hand and we passed through into the entrance hall of a very quiet and very neat house.
    â€œI’m Frankie,” said Frankie going in. “This is Devin.”
    Taking us into his living room, Mr. Fogg said, “I am exact. I am settled. I am quiet. My life is one of unbroken regularity. I have my routines. I wake every morning at precisely eight o’clock.”
    Passepartout nodded sharply. “Yes, Mr. Fogg.”
    â€œI have toast at twenty-three minutes past eight.”
    â€œYes, Mr. Fogg.”
    â€œI shave at thirty-seven minutes past eight.”
    â€œYes, Mr. Fogg.”
    â€œI do not like turbulence in my household. Is this understood?”
    â€œYes, Mr. Fogg!”
    â€œGood,” the man said. He pulled a watch from his pocket. “What time do you have?”
    â€œTwenty-two minutes past eleven,” said Passepartout.
    â€œYou are four minutes slow,” Fogg said.
    â€œMy watch is set on Paris time,” said Passepartout.
    â€œYou are in London now,” said Mr. Fogg.
    â€œThen I shall change to London time!” said Passepartout. He twisted a knob on his watch. “There.”
    â€œGood,” said Fogg. “From this moment, twenty-six minutes after eleven A.M., Wednesday, October second, you are my servant.”
    â€œThank you, sir!” said Passepartout. He leaned forward as if he were going to hug Mr. Fogg, but his new master swiftly put up his hand to stop him.
    â€œNow, Passepartout,” he said, “there are exactly one thousand one hundred fifty-one steps from my door to the door of the Reform Club, and I have exactly three minutes and forty-two seconds in which to traverse that distance. Therefore, I must now leave.”
    Without another word, Phileas Fogg took his hat in his hand, put it on his head, and slipped through the front door, closed it behind him, and was gone.
    â€œWow,” I said. “He’s very … very …”
    â€œI know!” said Frankie, peeking out a front window.
    As Fogg left the house and crossed the street, an out-of-control carriage dragged by two wild horses shot right by him. Fogg kept walking at the same pace.
    â€œThat carriage almost ran him down!” I said.
    â€œHe didn’t even notice,” said Frankie.
    â€œThe man is a machine!” said Passepartout.
    â€œA robot,” said Frankie.
    â€œA fast robot!” I said, as we watched Phileas Fogg walk quickly down the street.

Chapter 4
    While Passepartout wandered off to explore Mr. Fogg’s house, Frankie took the book from me.
    â€œWe need to follow Fogg,” she said after reading a couple of pages. “He’s where the action is now.”
    â€œGood idea,” I said. “Bring the book.”
    â€œAnd the watch,” said Frankie, holding up the old watch. “I guess I slipped it in my pocket by mistake.”
    â€œDo you think Mrs. Figglehopper will be mad that we borrowed her stuff?”
    Frankie shook her head. “Nah, we’ll be back in no time.”
    I remembered how the work guy was messing with the wires. I wondered if this was going to be like our other adventures or not.
    Soon after heading out the door, we caught up with Mr. Fogg. He was walking along a London street, when he suddenly turned and climbed a set of stairs.
    â€œOne thousand one hundred fifty … one thousand one hundred fifty-one!” he said. Then he glanced at his watch. “At the Reform Club at exactly eleven-thirty.”
    He stepped up to the