What a Trip! by Tony Abbott

Detective Fix went down in a heap, we all cheered. When he sat up and rubbed his chin, his mustache was all crooked. “Yes, well, I deserved that, I’m sure.”
    Before anybody could punch the weasel again, Frankie, Aouda, Passepartout, Fogg, and I were sailing out of the cell and straight to the Liverpool train station.
    Frankie asked the ticket lady where the superfast express train to London was.
    â€œIt left,” she replied. “Thirty-five minutes ago.”
    â€œNoooooooo!” I screamed. “I’m going to explode!”
    â€œNo—more—delays!” cried Frankie.
    â€œI shall order a special train,” said Fogg, calmly taking the last few bills from the depths of his carpetbag.
    Seconds later, the five of us were on a special train, flashing at top speed out of the station. The engineer really poured on the steam. We roared, we flew, we blurred past what was probably some nice scenery. But we saw none of it. Down to the wire, with only minutes left, the train screeched to a stop in London.
    The Reform Club was only minutes away by foot.
    But when we looked at the huge clock on the wall of the station, we couldn’t believe it.
    â€œI’m going to faint,” said Frankie.
    â€œI already did!” I said.
    The clock, the big stinking clock on the wall of the station, said it was eight fifty P.M.
    Having made a complete tour of the world, we were five minutes late.
    Five minutes late!
    Fogg had lost the wager.
    But that wasn’t all.
    â€œOh, my!” said Aouda. “What is that?”
    In a dim, distant corner of the train station was a flickering blue light.
    â€œThe gates!” I gasped.
    It was true. Mrs. Figglehopper’s fizzling, sizzling, sparking, flashing zapper gates were there in the train station. But something was wrong. The lights were getting dimmer by the second.
    â€œExcuse us!” Frankie said.
    Together we raced across the giant room.
    But by the time we got to the gates, the bright blue light had fizzled out completely.
    The gates vanished.
    And Frankie and I were stuck in 1872.
    Forever.

Chapter 21
    â€œIt’s not fair!” I said, stamping my feet.
    Frankie was quiet for a while, then said, “It can’t end like this. It just can’t. I mean, what’s the point of writing the book if you can’t have a happy ending!”
    We were five minutes too late.
    And everything had changed.
    Fogg had no money left. His fortune was gone, all spent in eighty days and five minutes. The rest of it belonged to the members of the Reform Club.
    Aouda was in tears. Passepartout, for the first time in his life, was speechless. And Frankie and I were stuck in a world without junk food, CDs, or megahold hair gel.
    We must have stared at that clock for an hour. But it didn’t even matter anymore. Time meant nothing now.
    â€œI have lost the wager,” said Fogg softly.
    It was a short sentence, but it meant everything.
    Then, with a sadness in his eyes that I’d never seen before, he said, “Please forgive me—all of you—for dragging you with me on this ill-fated tour of the world.”
    We all objected, of course, and said that it was the best thing we’d ever done, but Fogg said no more. He just headed quietly back to his house at Number 7, Saville Row, where the story had started.
    Of course, we followed him. There was nowhere else to go. Frankie and I had to sort out exactly what we would do. Without the zapper gates, we were lost.
    Mr. Fogg told Passepartout to set up rooms for Aouda, Frankie, and me, then left us to be by himself.
    â€œIt really is unbelievable,” said Frankie when we gathered in Aouda’s room.
    â€œYes,” said the princess, her eyes still moist with tears. “After having gone the entire way, overcome a hundred obstacles, faced many dangers, and saved lives—to have this happen! To fail so near his goal by this sudden, unexpected event!”
    She