The Magnificent Profession by Leonard Lockhard _Leonard Lockhard is an experienced patents attorney who can slip the glovelike surfaces of an inventor’s nightmare on his writing hand with a dexterity glorious to behold. We suspect he even does so in his dreams, chuckling right merrily until the dawn breaks through. You’ll chuckle too, we think, at one of the most uproariously funny SF yarns it has ever been our privilege to publish._ =Krome was Mr. Patent Office in person--and a hard man to needle. But Marchare’s underground diving suit had a very sharp point to it.= The interoffice buzzer on my phone rang. It was Helix Spardleton, patent attorney extraordinary--and my boss. “Saddle?” Helix said. “Marchare is on the phone. Take care of him, will you?” And he hung up. For a moment I just sat there, phone in hand. Marchare! My palms were suddenly moist. Other patent lawyers had nice normal scientists to work with--people who invented new and patentable plastics, pharmaceuticals, and insecticides. I had Marchare. My mind ran back over some of his inventions--synthetic babies, supersonic washing machines, hair-growing chemicals. Collectively they had netted him a small fortune, but they had brought nothing but headaches to me. Now he was on the phone again. Another invention undoubtedly. My forefinger shook a little as I stabbed it at the lighted button on the phone. “Saddle speaking,” I said. “Good morning, Carl!” came cheerily. “This is Marchare. You sound a little weak. You’re not ill, I hope?” “Well, I’m not feeling exactly--” “Glad to hear it. Look, I wonder if you could drop over at my lab. I’ve run across something interesting, and I think we ought to investigate the patent possibilities.” I swallowed dryly. “What is it?” “A diving suit.” I pondered his reply suspiciously. Was it conceivable that “Doc” had finally thought up a beautiful routine invention for me to work with--one that wouldn’t get me all fouled up with the Patent Office? It wasn’t too likely. Still--a diving suit. How could I get into trouble with a mere diving suit? Surely I was on safe ground there. I said, “Fine, Doc. Shall I come over now?” “The sooner the better,” he replied. “I’ll wait for you.” “Is there anything I should bring along? The camera?” “Your notebook is all you’ll need,” he assured me. “I’m not yet ready to test it underground. See you soon.” He hung up. I hung up myself and had half risen from my desk when I suddenly stiffened. _Underground._ His diving suit worked underground! I was plenty startled, but as I thought it over I decided that Marchare must have been mistaken. He’d meant _underwater_--just a slip of the tongue. Sure, that was it. Who ever heard of a diving suit that went underground? It was too fantastic. I felt better almost immediately. I got my hat and notebook and went out into the bright sunshine and hailed a cab.