I had a good invention, the application was well-written and everything
was just as it should be. I had no need to resort to deception, or
evasion. Besides, I had seen what Krome could do to attorneys with a
system. He took the system, rolled it up in a compact ball, and fanned
them out with it, scoring his three strikes without once unbending.
At two o’clock sharp, with the diving suit under my arm, I stepped up
to Mr. Krome’s desk.
“Mr. Krome?” I inquired, with just the proper amount of rhetorical
deference.
“Yes, yes. What is it?” he said without even looking up.
“I’d like to talk to you, sir, if I may. It’s about the Marchare case,
the diving suit--”
I knew Krome quite well, but still he asked me coldly, “Are you the
attorney of record?”
“Yes, sir,” was my instant reply. He knew I was--and he knew I knew
that he knew. But it was part of his routine, and I didn’t want to
irritate him by abbreviating the amenities.
“I can spare you ten minutes,” he grumbled. “I have an important
appointment with the Commissioner at two-thirty.”