He pushed his desk calendar toward me. It was Friday all right, and the
thirteenth at that. I was too embarrassed to speak, and I got up and
began to walk out. Mr. Krome called after me. "This must be an important
case, Mr. Saddle. I'll expect to see you the first thing Monday." I
nodded, and left.
By Monday, my embarrassment had not diminished. I had really done an
unheard-of thing in patent prosecution. In patent prosecution, the
patent attorney has six months to respond to an Office Action. Since
attorneys carry a docket of cases adapted to fill all their time, an
attorney in most instances requires the full six months to respond to an
outstanding Office Action. Industrious attorneys with relatively light
dockets might respond in five months' time. This may also happen when
the attorney is trying to get a little ahead so he can go on a vacation.
There are rare instances of record when an attorney had taken some
action in three or four months. But here, in the Tearproof Paper Case, I
had actually gone for an interview on the very first day. I couldn't
possibly go back on the following Monday; my pride would not allow me. I
waited until Tuesday.
By that time I had gone over the entire rejection and planned my
complete response to the Examiner. I sat down with Mr. Krome on Tuesday
morning and talked steadily for fifteen minutes before I realized he was
watching me instead of paying attention to the case. I said, "What's the
matter."
He said wonderingly, "I've never seen you like this before. You are
acting almost as unreasonably as an inventor. You don't even want to
hear what I have to say about this case. You should relax, Mr. Saddle.
You are here as an advocate, not as a midwife."
"I don't think that's very funny, Mr. Krome," I proceeded to explain the
high merit of the case, and he seemed to listen then. Before I left he
promised to give the case careful consideration. This was all he ever
promised, so I thanked him and went back to my office. I filed my
amendment in the case the next day. It was eight months before I got the
next Office Action.
* * *
Callahan returned in six months and immediately opened a project on the
Tearproof Paper. The two of us sat down together to determine the best
way to handle the research.
I said, "Henry, we have already drawn up a complete research program.
All we have to do is follow it."
"We have?" Callahan was surprised.
"Sure." And I laid out in front of him a copy of our patent application,
and riffled through its pages. "All we have to do is go through all the
examples here to make certain they all work. If they do, the program
will be complete, except for the product itself and commercial
production. Our patent application will make the best research guide we
could get."
"Why certainly," said Callahan. "We have already spent a great deal of
time working out all kinds of substitute and equivalent reactions. It's
all here. Good. I'll set it up."
Callahan began distributing the work to various groups, and I went back
to my office. Every Friday afternoon thereafter I went out to the
laboratories to see how things were coming along. They came along well.
From the beginning the actual results reached by the research teams
matched the predictions we had made in our patent application. At the
Friday afternoon meetings Callahan and I got into the habit of tossing
pleased and knowing glances at each other as the streams of data
continued to confirm our work. Several months rolled happily by. Then
came a letter from the Lafe Rude Consultants, Inc., up in Boston. The
letter said that their people understood that the Marchare Laboratories
had under development a remarkably strong paper, and they would be very
much interested in discussing licensing possibilities with us. I grabbed
the letter and stormed into Mr. Spardleton's office.
"Just read this," I almost yelled as I handed him the letter. "This is
the outfit that hired Callahan's technician. Now they know all about the
Tearproof Paper. That technician has told them everything. I think we
ought to sue them--inducing disclosure of trade secrets, or something."
I added a great deal more as Mr. Spardleton finished the letter and sat
holding it looking up at me as I paced back and forth in front of his
desk. As I walked and talked, I finally became conscious of the fact
that Mr. Spardleton was waiting for me to finish; I could tell by the
expression on his face. I pulled up in front of him and fell quiet.
He said, "Don't you feel it is significant that this letter was sent to
us, lawyers for Marchare Laboratories, rather than direct to the
Laboratories?"
I thought about it, and he continued, "Furthermore, as I understand it,
the Lafe Rude people have a good reputation."
That was right, too, and I saw what he was driving at. People of good
reputation don't try to pull a fast one by immediately alerting the
lawyers for the other side. In fact, when I stopped to think about it, I
could see that they were bending over backwards to be careful in this
situation.
Mr. Spardleton said, as he handed back the letter, "I suggest you clear
with Dr. Marchare, and then make arrangements to talk to these people
and see if you can negotiate some kind of profitable license. Marchare
is pretty fully committed right now, and I don't think he has time to
exploit this paper, even if it turns out to amount to something."
I looked at him, aghast that he should still be doubtful of the paper at
this late stage of the game. He saw my look and said, "Oops, I mean this
milestone in paper technology once it is announced to the world."
That seemed better, more to the point. I called Dr. Marchare and found
that Mr. Spardleton was right, as usual. Dr. Marchare would welcome a
beneficial licensing arrangement. I then called the Rude Associates on
the phone; it seemed more expeditious than writing. I set up a meeting
date as soon as possible, one week away.
* * * * *
The day before I left for Boston I checked in with Callahan to make
certain all of our data were correct. We went over every aspect of the
Tearproof Paper Case. I picked out a dozen good samples of the paper of
varying composition and thickness and put them in my briefcase along
with a copy of the patent application. I had decided that I might even
show them a copy of the application if it might help show what a
marvelous discovery we had made. Callahan and I shook hands solemnly,
and he wished me the best of luck. I went back to my office for a final
quick check, got interested in Zabell's book, and went home without my
briefcase. There was no harm done. My plane did not leave until ten in
the morning and I had planned to go back to the office anyway. I said
good-by to Susan and Mr. Spardleton, retrieved my briefcase from over by
the radiator where Susan had put it the night before, and caught the
plane.
It was a cold damp day, and the threat of rain was in the air. In Boston
I caught a cab for the Massachusetts Avenue laboratories of Rude
Associates. Dr. Rude himself was at the meeting, along with half a dozen
of his associates. Dr. Rude was a small man, dapper, totally unlike a
research chemist, and his speech and manner were as impeccable as his
dress. Only his hands were a giveaway; they were stained with yellow and
black stains that looked completely out of place on the man. Dr. Rude
opened the meeting with an explanation concerning the technician he had
hired from the Marchare Laboratories two years earlier. "Just a week
ago," said Dr. Rude, "we put him on a problem of paper chemistry. He
told us that the properties we sought--and more--had already been found
by your laboratory. He said no more, and we would not have allowed him
to say any more, except that you were the patent lawyer who was working
on the case. That is all we know about it. We hope you have something of
mutual interest, but we don't know any more than what I have told you."
I said, "Thank you, Dr. Rude. I understand how it was. I assure you it
never crossed our minds down in Washington that anything could have been
out of line in any manner whatsoever."
The assembled group smiled, and I smiled back, and we all felt friendly
with one another. Dr. Rude cleared his throat and said, "Well, is there
anything you can tell us about this tearpr ... about a paper having some
of these very interesting properties?"
I said, "There is a great deal I can tell you about the paper we have,
but suppose I let you see some specimens before I say anything. There's
nothing like the actual goods themselves to do most of the talking."
We all laughed as I took half a dozen twelve-by-twelve hand sheets out
of my briefcase and passed them around the table. I watched the chemists
finger the sheets, savoring their soft coolness, and I heard the
whispered comments, "good hand," "excellent softness," "fine color," and
a few others. Dr. Rude said, "Are these 'breaking samples', Mr. Saddle?
Do you mind if we tear them?"
Well, you can see that this was the question I was waiting for. I sat
back and allowed a slight smile to play over my face. I said, "Oh no,
gentlemen. Go ahead and tear them."
I saw several of the people take the sheets between their thumbs and
forefingers, and gently pull. I saw the sheets tighten momentarily, and
then--as if the sheets were no more than ordinary cleansing tissue--I
saw the fibers pull apart as each man easily tore the sheet in half.
I felt the blood drain from my face, and it seemed to me that my
pounding heart must have been visible right through my clothes. I
swallowed and tried to say something, although I had no clear idea of
what I was going to say. Words would not come. I leaned over and took
another sheet from my briefcase and tugged at it. It tore in half with
practically no effort. I took another, same results, and still another.
I dimly realized that all the people at the meeting were staring at me,
but I wasn't concerned. I knew something must be wrong with all the
specimens; possibly I had placed regular cleaning tissues in my
briefcase, or maybe Susan ... but even as I thought it I knew such a
mistake was impossible.
I reached over and tried tearing one of the sheets I had passed out to
the others. It tore into quarters as easily as it had torn into halves.
That finished me. I leaned back and looked around at the silent group
and wondered what Mr. Spardleton would have said at a time like that. I
started to smile and discovered that my original smile was still frozen
on my face. I stood up and began retrieving the torn papers; they passed
them back to me without saying anything. I replaced them in my
briefcase, closed it, said, "Gentlemen, Christmas falls on Friday this
year," and walked out.
* * *
It was raining outside, but I scarcely noticed. I hailed a cab to the
Logan Airport, changed my reservations to an earlier plane, and returned
to Washington. It was a slow trip. The planes were stacked up in the
rain at the Washington International Airport, but I did not notice the
passage of time. I was too stunned to think clearly, but I kept trying.
I got quite wet in Washington, but I was in a hurry to see Mr.
Spardleton and I did not bother to change my clothes.
I burst into his office. He looked up and said, "Well, I didn't expect
to see you until tomorrow. How did...?" He saw my face.
I plopped my briefcase on his desk and pulled out all the specimens and
dumped them in front of him. I said, "Just look at these. This
'Tearproof Paper' has deteriorated. These specimens are useless. Right
in front of all the Rude chemists, they go bad. Most of them are new
ones, too. How can this be possible? Just look at them."
Mr. Spardleton picked up one of the sheets, rubbed it, and then tugged
at it gently to tear it. It did not tear. He pulled harder, and then
harder, and it did not tear. I stared at him in disbelief and said, "Oh,
Mr. Spardleton, this is no time to play games with me."
I took one of the sheets and yanked it, and almost cut my fingers. I
bent over and put my hands on my knees to get better leverage just as I
had the very first time, but the sheet would not tear. I threw it on the
desk and tried another with the same results. One after another I ran
through them all while Mr. Spardleton sat back and watched me. I was
wild-eyed when I finished.
Mr. Spardleton said, "Mr. Saddle, would you mind telling me what has
happened?"
I pulled up a chair, groped for my voice, and finally got the story out.
He looked at me strangely, tried to tear another of those miserable
little sheets, and said, "Mr. Saddle, do you feel all right?"
In Boston I had been completely deflated and bewildered, but now I was
mad. I grabbed up the phone and called Callahan. I had barely started to
pour out the story when he said, "I'm glad you called, Carl. We seem to
have run into something on this paper thing. Looks bad. Can you come
out?"
"Be right there." I hung up.
Mr. Spardleton went out with me; he didn't want me to go anywhere alone.
Callahan was holding two sheets up to the light when we went into his
lab. He said, "Two identical sheets, except for the moisture content.
Moisture is the devil. One of these is dry, the other contains three per
cent moisture. Here's the dry one." He tore it in half effortlessly.
"Here's the moist one." And he strained at it, but it would not tear.
"We just ran across this effect last night, and finished checking it out
an hour ago. Have you been to Rude Associates yet?"