Each patent lawyer must develop his own technique for interviewing Examiners. Some shout and rave and rant. But that is foolhardy. One slip, and the show is over. Others play dumb and act as if they haven’t the slightest idea what the score is. That encourages the Examiner to talk himself out on a limb. Still others employ the yakety-yak system wherein they never give the Examiner a chance to open his mouth. It is a subterfuge which is only used by those who don’t dare meet the Examiner in fair and open combat. Others use the buddy-to-buddy approach in which the attorney manages to convince the Examiner that he and the Examiner--and especially the Examiner--are the only two people in the whole world who really understand patents. After due consideration I had decided to use an absolutely unique approach, one never thought of before. I was going to be myself. 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.” I said, “Ten minutes will be quite sufficient.” “Just a second while I get the case,” he said. He got up and disappeared into the Clerk’s room. Five minutes later he returned, and steamed back to his desk, my application clutched tightly in his hand. “Yes,” he said, without even looking at it, “part of my rejection was on probable inoperability. Have you got a working model there?” “I certainly have,” I replied. “Though you might not believe it even when you see it. This is absolutely the most--” “Why won’t I believe it when I see it?” he demanded. “Well, I just meant--” “Is this a trick of some kind?” he bridled. “No. Oh, no. I just--” “Well, why won’t I believe it when I see it?” “I didn’t mean it that way,” I said quickly. “I meant--” “I heard what you said. Let me remind you of Rule Three. Interviews with Examiners must be conducted with decorum. No frivolity, understand?” “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “You’ll believe it. Honest you will.”