"But you book people 'through' from Bombay to Calcutta," persisted Sir
Francis, who was waxing angry.
"Certainly we do; but it is an understood thing that the passengers provide their own conveyance between Kholby and Allahabad."
Sir Francis was furious. Passe-partout would have liked to have knocked the guard down, if he had been able. He did not dare to look at his master.
"We had better get on, Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg; "we must get to
Allahabad somehow; let us see how we can do so."
"It strikes me that this delay will upset your arrangements considerably, Mr. Fogg," replied Sir Francis.
"Oh dear no! all this has been discounted," replied Fogg.
"What! did you know that the line was unfinished?"
"No; but I was quite sure that some obstacles would crop up to retard me. Nothing is yet lost I have two days in reserve. The steamer does not leave Calcutta for Hong Kong until the 23rd, at mid-day. This is only the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in good time even now."
What could be urged against such an assured reply as this? It was only too evident that the railway ceased at that point. Newspapers are so fond of anticipating, and in this case they had been decidedly premature in announcing the completion of the line. The majority of the passengers had been made aware of the existing state of things, and provided themselves with conveyance accordingly, whatever they could obtain—"palkigharies" with four wheels, waggons drawn by zebus, a sort of brahma ox, palanquins, ponies, &c. So it happened that there was nothing left for Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty.
"I shall walk," said Phileas Fogg. Passe-partout, who was close to his master, made a very expressive grimace when he gazed at his elegant but very thin slippers. Fortunately he had made a discovery, but hesitated a little to announce it.