 Why were people throwing things at Feetch's house?
"Feetch!" grated Ogden Piltdon, president of the Piltdon Opener Company, slamming the drafting board with his hairy fist, "I want results!" "But Mr. Piltdon," remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's glare, "don't you remember? Our own Piltdon opener barely manages to open a can in eight point nine without chimes. Four months, Feetch! I want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—" Feetch's body twitched. Four months, Feetch, no more!" A designer had to dream at his board, investigate, search, build, test, compare, discard. Ah, well, thought Feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had managed somehow to design a few good things during his twenty-five years with Piltdon. "Got to be," answered Feetch tiredly. Departures, such as the thermal or motor-driven types, would be too expensive for mass production." They began testing, Hanson operating the openers and Feetch clocking. Twenty-five years of your life you put in with Piltdon, and he'd fire you just like that if you don't do the impossible. Piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of Feetch? "Hello," said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism. The machinist departed and Hanson locked the opener on a can. Likewise several corn cans, sweet potato cans and corned-beef hash cans, leaving their contents intact.
 They thought the falling cans were all his fault
 They were jealous of Feetch's invention  They thought the falling cans were all his fault  Piltdon told them to  Cans were still falling on people