The players rose.
At the fifty-seventh second, the door of the saloon opened, and the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second, when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd, who had forced an entrance into the club, and in his calm voice, he said:
"Gentlemen, here I am!"
CHAPTER XXXVII
IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT PHILEAS FOGG HAS GAINED NOTHING BY MAKING THIS TOUR OF THE WORLD UNLESS IT BE HAPPINESS
Yes! Phileas Fogg in person.
It will be remembered that at five minutes after eight in the evening, about twenty-five hours after the arrival of the travelers in London, Passepartout was charged by his master to inform Rev. Samuel Wilson in reference to a certain marriage which was to take place the next day.
Passepartout went, delighted. He repaired with rapid steps to the residence of Rev. Samuel Wilson, who had not come home. Of course Passepartout waited, but he waited full twenty minutes at least.
In short, it was thirty-five minutes past eight when he left the clergyman's house. But in what a condition! His hair disordered, hatless, running, running as has never been seen in the memory of man, upsetting passers-by, rushing along the sidewalks like a water-spout.
In three minutes, he had returned to the house in Saville Row, and fell, out of breath, in Mr. Fogg's room.
He could not speak.
"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Master"—stammered Passepartout—"Marriage—impossible!"
"Impossible?"
"Impossible—to-morrow."
"Why?"
"Because to-morrow is—Sunday!"
"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.
"No—to-day—Saturday."
"Saturday? Impossible!"
