"Yankee!" said Mr. Fogg, casting at his adversary a look of deep scorn.
"Englishman!" replied the other. "We will see each other again."
"When you please."
"Your name?"
"Phileas Fogg. And yours?"
"Colonel Stamp Proctor."
Then the crowd passed on, throwing Fix down. He rose with his clothes torn, but without serious hurt. His traveling overcoat was torn in two unequal parts, and his pantaloons resembled those of certain Indians, who, as a fashion, put them on only after first taking out the seat. But to sum up, Aouda had been spared, and Fix alone had been harmed by the fist-blow.
"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of the crowd.
"No thanks necessary;" replied Fix, "but come with me."
"Where?"
"To a tailor's."
In fact, this visit was opportune. The garments of Phileas Fogg and Fix were in tatters, as if these two gentlemen had fought for Hon. Messrs. Camerfield and Mandiboy.
'A'n hour afterwards they had respectable clothes and hats. Then they returned to the International Hotel.
Passepartout was waiting there for his master, armed with a half-dozen sharp-shooting, six-barreled, breech-loading revolvers. When he perceived Fix in company with Mr. Fogg, his brow darkened. Aouda, however, having told in a few words what had happened, Passepartout became calm again. Fix was evidently no longer an enemy but an ally. He was keeping his word.
Dinner over, a coach drove up to take the passengers and their baggage to the station. As they were getting into the coach Mr. Fogg said to Fix, "Did you see Colonel Proctor again?"
"No," replied Fix.
"I shall return to America to find him again," said Mr. Fogg coldly. "It would not be proper for an English citzen to allow himself to be treated in this way."
