 What didn't Feetch get at the end of the story?
Here's why you should ask for a "Feetch M-D" next time you get a can opener! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Feetch!" grated Ogden Piltdon, president of the Piltdon Opener Company, slamming the drafting board with his hairy fist, "I want results!" Kalvin Feetch shrunk visibly. "As chief engineer you're not carrying the ball," Piltdon went on savagely. "But Mr. Piltdon," remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's glare, "don't you remember? The International rips apart cans in three and three-tenths seconds. Universal does it in four." "But Mr. Piltdon—" "The Minerva Mighty Midget does it in four point two two and plays Home Sweet Home in chimes. Our own Piltdon opener barely manages to open a can in eight point nine without chimes. Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. It is built to last. It has dignity...." "Dignity," pronounced Piltdon, "is for museums. Four months, Feetch! I want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—" Feetch's body twitched. I've been trying to tell you for years that we're bound to fall behind because we don't have enough personnel to conduct research. "Excuses," sneered Mr. Piltdon. Four months, Feetch, no more!" Piltdon trudged out of the room, leaving behind him an oppressive silence. A designer had to dream at his board, investigate, search, build, test, compare, discard. He had always wanted to devote all his time to research, but Piltdon Opener had not given him that opportunity. Twenty-five years! thought Feetch. Twenty-five years of close supervision, dead-lines, production headaches, inadequate facilities and assistance.
 Piltdon's job
 Money to pay for his wife's medical bills  Credit for his discoveries  The job he wanted  Piltdon's job