The Professional Approach by Charles L. Harness and Theodore L. Thomas (best way to read an ebook .TXT) 📖

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?"

I nodded.

"Too bad. We'll have to show them what can happen."

Mr. Spardleton said, "They already know."

Callahan said, "This kicks the whole thing in the head. The paper can never be more than a laboratory curiosity, as far as we can see. The sun, a dry climate, heat, any of these things will drive off the moisture, and the paper will lose its strength. There's no way we can market a product like that when it might lose its strength at any time. I'm afraid the 'Tearproof Paper' must join the huge list of fine products that can't be sold because of one small flaw."

It was Mr. Spardleton who steered me out of the labs. He slipped an arm through mine and said, "You can refile the patent application and add this information about the moisture content. You ought to get the patent without too much trouble even if the product is of no commercial value."

I nodded as we stood in the rain waiting for a cab.

He said, "I never told you what happened in that Phenol Case of mine many years ago. It turned out that the man at the next bench had spilled a little phenol on the bench top. That's what my inventor smelled; there never was any phenol in the test tube. We all fall over the facts of a case now and then." He squeezed my arm, and the rain did not seem to fall quite as hard.