Around the World in 100 Days Read Online Free

that were popular fifty or sixty years ago.”
    The man gave a dismissive laugh. “I would hardly say steam coaches were popular . In point of fact, they were a dismal failure.”
    â€œOf course they were,” said Harry. “But only because the railroad interests saw them as a threat and did everything in their power to destroy them.”
    The man’s face turned even redder and he flung aside his paper. “See here, young man—”
    â€œI’ll handle this, Julius,” put in Phileas Fogg. He turned to Harry. “You owe this gentleman an apology.”
    â€œI only spoke the truth,” Harry protested.
    â€œI believe Mr. Hardiman is in a better position to know about such things than you are. He is, after all, president of the Great Southern Railway.”
    â€œOh.” Harry gave an embarrassed grin. Though he was quick to fly off the handle, he was also quick to make amends. “I do apologize then, sir. I didn’t mean to be discourteous. It’s just that . . . Well, it gets my back up when people speak of motorcars as if they’re merely a nuisance, some sort of frivolous toy.”
    â€œAren’t they?”
    â€œNo, sir. I believe they are the most practical form of transportation ever invented, and within a very few years, half the population of London will own one.”
    Hardiman gave an incredulous snort. “Really? So you think they will replace the locomotive, do you?”
    â€œI don’t know. But they will surely replace the horse.”
    The railroad man laughed again, and most of the others joined in—with the exception of Phileas Fogg.
    â€œNot the motorcars I’ve seen, I’m afraid,” said Dr. Doyle. “The few that actually work travel no faster than a man can walk, and they get bogged down in a large mud puddle.”
    â€œYou’re quite right,” said Harry.
    â€œAh, he agrees!” crowed Hardiman.
    â€œBut,” Harry went on, “as I said, the Flash is a different sort of motorcar altogether.”
    â€œThe Flash ?” echoed Hardiman with a chuckle.
    â€œYes. We haven’t given her a proper road test yet, but she has plenty of power and not much weight. We fully expect her to do thirty miles per hour or more and ford a stream or climb a hill better than a team of Clydesdales.”
    â€œI think perhaps you exaggerate,” said Phileas Fogg.
    â€œYou haven’t seen her in action, Father!” Harry exclaimed. Then, knowing how Phileas Fogg disliked displays of emotion, he added more calmly, “I really don’t feel I’m exaggerating in the least, Father.”
    Fogg regarded his son evenly for a moment. Just as he seemed about to respond, the clock struck three. He rose automatically from his chair, as though he himself were run by clockwork. “Pardon me, gentlemen. I have an appointment in the card room.”
    Harry wondered what his father had been about to say. Was he curious at all about what Harry’s motorcar could do? Or did he feel, too, that the machines were useless? Was he truly ashamed of his son’s unconventional behavior and attitude? Or did some part of him secretly admire Harry’s spirit? Guessing what lay beneath that calm, composed exterior was like trying to fathom what the Buddha was thinking, or the Mona Lisa. No wonder the man was such a formidable card-player; his opponents could have no inkling of what sort of hand he held. Unfortunately, neither could his partner.
    The other club members, seeing the opportunity for a rousing discussion, had pulled their chairs closer. “So,” said Mr. Sullivan, the banker, “this Flash of yours. Is she built any better than these—what did you call them? Overgrown perambulators?”
    â€œOh, far better. Johnny’s given her a frame of ash, like the best carriages, and made the body from lightweight sheets of aluminum.”
    â€œJohnny?” said Dr. Doyle. “You