The next couple of months passed swiftly. Under Spardleton’s expert tutelage my working fund of patent knowledge blossomed and grew. I learned how to write page after page of patent specification without actually saying anything. I achieved an amazing degree of tonal control over my voice. By simply saying to an Examiner, “I don’t quite agree with you there,” I was able to suggest by the tone of my voice alone that I knew he had received his scientific education by the rudimentary osmotic process of sitting on his text books. Sometimes it worked. Then one day Spardleton sent for me. He was evidently busy trying to decipher an Office Action when I entered. Webster’s Unabridged stood open on its stand beside his desk and at least six volumes of the Britannica were scattered about on the floor. The desk itself was littered with thesauruses and handbooks and I noticed particularly Partridge’s _Dictionary of Slang and Unconventional English_. As soon as I walked in he asked, “Did you ever hear of the word ‘sludutiferous?’” “I’m afraid not,” I said. “Well, there is such a word. I found it here.” He waved vaguely at the forest of books on his desk. “And I must say I’m a little disappointed in the Examiner. I don’t know what the Patent Office is coming to when they begin using words that are actually in existence.” He looked at the initials in the upper left-hand corner of the Office Action. “Oh,” he said, brightening considerably. “Maybe that explains it. Old Nailgood. He’s just allowed several claims in Marchare’s cabbagite deodorizer case. He must be slipping fast.” His smile vanished and his brows drew together. “Still, there’s something phony here. Cabbagite is a real invention. It’s a money maker for Marchare, and a boon to the housewife. There’s something remotely similar in the prior art. It’s very odd, therefore, that the office is willing to give us a patent on it. Unless--” “Unless what?” “Unless they want to allow it, in order to use the allowed claims to reject Marchare on some other application of even greater importance. Does he have any co-pending applications relating to cabbagite?” “None that I know of,” I said. “How about that diving suit?” I stared at him, startled, “Surely you don’t mean they’d reject a diving suit on a deodorizer? What kind of sanity is that?” He gave me a puzzled look. “Sanity? What’s sanity got to do with it?” I hadn’t got around to answering him when Susan walked in and handed Spardleton a letter--clearly a communication from an Examiner. He tore it open and scanned it quickly. “Ah, hah,” he said. “Look here. This explains everything.” I circled around behind him. It was an Office Action, all right. And it was in reference to the diving suit application.