"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.
"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible—"
"You are four minutes too slow. No matter. It's enough to mention the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, A.M., this Wednesday, the 2nd of October, you are in my service."
Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.
Passepartout heard the street door shut once. It was his new master going out. He heard it shut again. It was his predecessor, James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.
Chapter 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has at Last Found His Ideal
"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"
Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much visited in London. Speech is all that is wanting to make them human.