A behind the scenes run-down of a London club provides some pretty fair game with its habitues, committees, clubmanship, codes and language, and hinges around the tenure of the new secretary, Peter Grant. The True Blue Club, a lesser light among the famous names, has a larger membership, a gloomy grandeur, a centennial fug, and a Victorian outmoded formality -- all of which makes it a survival in the present day. The small cell that would modernize it works deviously while Grant tries to work in the open for his reforms and repairs; the regular ""fullers"" resent both sides; the creeping insolvency is faced but never downed; and meeting on meeting resolves very little. Tottering in and out are the old smellies and funnies, the staff, the down -at-the-heels; fermenting are the factions; doing nothing are the majority -- and Grant bows out, aware that the day of the amateur is over and professional administration is needed. A seeing eye ex-rays a sacrosanct subject and Osbert Lancaster's irrepressible illustrations keep up with the revelations. For the cultivated taste.