No ARMS, No ARMOURRobert HenrlquesFarrar & Rineharf ($2.50).
On a hill above England's Salisbury Plain a stuffy general stood at the roadside, watching the 17th Light Battery return from a route march. Mules, guns, gunners. A frail, thoughtful major at the head of the column, a red-faced ungentlemanly subaltern in the rear. The general responded more favorably to the sight of a third officer: a fair young second-lieutenant with the right build for a horseman, a careless, well-bred face. Good stuff, this. "Who's that, Benjamin?" "Windrush, sir, Tubby Windrush." "Windrush . . . Windrush...