What a Trip! Read Free Page A

door.
    â€œWhy do you count your steps?” Frankie asked him.
    â€œThe information may be useful one day,” he replied.
    â€œIn case someone gives you a test?” I asked.
    â€œLife is a test,” said Fogg. “Let us enter.”
    Inside the Reform Club, the noise of the street died away. All the horses clip-clop ping, and carts and carriages and delivery wagons creaking, and people talking and walking and yelling, just stopped.
    An old, bent-over little man met us at the door. “Your newspaper, Mr. Fogg,” he said. “The news today is about a robbery at the Bank of England, sir.”
    â€œIndeed,” said Mr. Fogg. He took the paper and entered a big quiet room.
    Frankie nudged me. “This place is like a—”
    â€œI know,” I whispered. “A library!”
    The rooms were paneled with dark wood. Bookcases reached from floor to ceiling. As soon as I saw them I started to feel sleepy, just like in our own library. And I wasn’t the only one. The loudest thing in the whole place was the snoring of a couple of really ancient dudes in deep leather chairs in the back.
    Right away, I noticed a table laid out with munchies. While Fogg went straight to a table to play cards with his friends, I made an emergency pit stop at the food table and began stuffing myself with a bunch of tasty crackers. Crunch … crunch .
    â€œThief!” said one of the men at Fogg’s table.
    I quickly swallowed the rest of my crackers. “I’m innocent!” I proclaimed. “I just ate two. Well, three. Okay, five. But some of the six were broken, which is why I only had eight of them. Nine!”
    â€œDevin, calm down!” said Frankie, with a frown. “If you’d stop crunching and maybe pay attention, you’d know they’re talking about the other robbery.”
    I looked at the men with Fogg. It was true. They were all buzzing about the same thing, and it wasn’t me.
    â€œA thief stole fifty-five thousand pounds from the Bank of England last night, Fogg!” said one of the men.
    Frankie and I went over to the old-guy table.
    â€œIndeed, I heard,” said Fogg. “Disgraceful.”
    I raised my hand. “How could anyone steal something that heavy?” I asked. “If there are two thousand pounds in a ton, then fifty-five thousand pounds is—”
    Mr. Fogg set down his cards and turned to us. “The standard denomination of English currency is called a pound, just as American money is made up of dollars.”
    â€œOh, I get it,” I said. “Sorry.”
    â€œNot at all,” said Fogg politely. “For you bring up an interesting point. Fifty-five thousand pounds, even in paper bills, makes a very heavy load. The robber must be very clever to have gotten away with it. The newspaper states that he may even be a gentleman.”
    The other guys made noises at this.
    â€œDetectives have gone off around the world searching for the fellow,” one growled as he snapped a card onto the table. “There is a large reward for his capture.”
    â€œBut of course, the world is such a big place, he could hide anywhere,” said another.
    Fogg played a card. “The world is not so large.”
    â€œI rather agree,” said the man to his left. “They say you can go round the globe in three months or so.”
    â€œIn eighty days,” said Fogg, playing another card.
    I thought about that. “That’s slow,” I said to Frankie. “With jets, it probably only takes a couple days.”
    Frankie shook her head. “Jets haven’t been invented yet. Planes, neither. It’s 1872, remember?”
    â€œOuch,” I said. “Cruel ancient world.”
    â€œEighty days,” Fogg repeated. “Indeed, today’s newspaper even gives an estimate of the traveling time.”
    He flipped open the paper to the travel section and showed everyone the timetable.
    From London