CHAPTER XXII Every morning at dawn it was Spurlock's custom to take a plunge in the lagoon. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. A modest drinking bout which had its windup in a fan-tan house over in Kowloon, where O'Higgins tussled with varying fortune until five in the morning. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old.
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