Around the World in about Eighty-ish Days. Sort of.

A thrilling adventure yarn for boys, featuring ukmonty

The Reform Club, London, 1888.

The Reform Club was not a place where things happened quickly, but they happened accurately. It seemed that every tick of the smoking room clock was followed by two or even three seconds before the tock indicated another moment had passed. Time hung heavy on the place, as if even the slow rustle of newspaper pages turning was punctually timetabled.
David put down his copy of The Times and glared at the clock, before checking it against his fob. “I see Montgomery is late again”, he said.
His companion looked up and nodded. “But not by more than a factor of ten or twelve”, was the reply, as if in some small consolation.
“He’s always late.”
It was at that moment that the door to the smoking room flew open and a tall man staggered in with a waft of warm, alcoholic air. “Shorry I’m late, you fellowsh!” He cried, jovially. “There wash a bit of a delay on the Northern Line. Yesh. The tube. That’sh why I’m late. Yesh.”
“Heavens, Montgomery!” Cried Wade. “You were supposed to be here by – “ he checked his watch again “- last Tuesday.”
“Oopsh.”
“Now look here, Monty. Are you ever punctual?”
Monty bridled at this. “I can be on *hic* time any time I like!” he cried. “Why, if I sho choshe, I could travershe the entire earth and be back here on the stroke of midday eighty *hic* daysh from now!”
There was silence from the floor. The entire club had stopped to listen at the incredible claim.
“Good God!” Answered Wade. “That’s a remarkable claim. In fact, I would say it’s impossible!”
“Not sho!” Said Monty. “Ash you may know, I have a pashing interesht in railways – and I know that a *hic* railway has been completed accrosh the Continental United Shatesh, making shuch a journey now *hic* possible.”
“I don’t believe it”, replied Wade. “Why, even if such a thing were possible, you could never make it in time. The slightest delay. The smallest bottle of Slipowicz. The mere act of passing a branch of Oddbins. Any of these things could throw out your timetable by months!”
“Nonshenshe. I am the shoul of *hic* self-control.”
“Then, perhaps, you would like to make this more interesting?”
“A wager?”
“Indeed.”
“You’re on! Twenty thoushand poundsh shays I can get round the world and be back in this very room by the stroke of midday eighty daysh from now!”
“Twenty thousand?”
There was a babble of excited voices around the ancient room. “Twenty thousand…” “Impossible…” "Talk of the Empire..." “Wonder of the age!”
Wade paused for a moment before striding forward shaking Monty firmly by the hand. “It’s a wager!” He said.
Monty swayed a little unsteadily. “I shall leave by train from Charing Cross to Dover within the hour. There’sh a packet *hic* shteamboat to Calais at three. I’ll be back in eighty daysh, Wade, and you shall eat your wordsh.”

*****************************************************

The Reform Club, London, Eighty days later.

Wade strode into the smoking room with a jovial air. “So!” He asked, in general. “Where does The Times indicate that Monty has got to today?
An old club hand looked up. “The same place he’s been for the last seventy-nine days. Slumped under the bar at the King’s Head in Dover, surrounded by emtpy bottles of Ukranian Absinthe and Belgian Whiskey.”
Wade did a little dance. “Then the twenty thousand pounds are mine! I shall do great works with this money. I shall build orphanages and cure diseases! I shall relieve the poor and bring education to the uncultured! I shall –“. He was broken off by a cough from the old man.
“The Times goes on to say that Monty has not only spent every last farthing of the twenty thousand over the bar, but he’s also run up a substantial tab. And forged your signature on the bill.”
“Blast.”

^{With all due apologies to ukmonty}