"Perfectly."

"You are sure of that?"

It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but it starts from Shanghai."

"The San Francisco steamer does not start from Yokohama.

"Why not?" returned the pilot.

"Pilot," said Mr. Fogg, "I must take the American steamer at Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."

"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing.

"And you can sing?"

"Especially after a good meal."

"You are pretty strong, eh?"

"Ah!"

"True. Well, if I can't take you as a servant, I can as a clown. You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign parts French clowns."

"Why," replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should cause this question, "we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is true but not any better than the Americans do."

"Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?"

"Yes; a Parisian of Paris."

"A man dresses as he can." "That's true. You are a Frenchman, aren't you?"

"Ah!" said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. "You are no more a Japanese than I am a monkey! Who are you dressed up in that way?"

"So I can be of no use to you?" "None." "The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"

"I already have two who are obedient and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they are," added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as large as the strings of a bass-viol.

"Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout. "A servant!" cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which hung from his chin.