 How did the majority of Piltdon workers feel about Feetch?
"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? 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. 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." "Four point four," announced Feetch after the last test. 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. The Piltdon Company is built upon your designs and you get handed this deal!" "Well, well," said Feetch. Piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of Feetch? Nine completed and tested, two in work. "Hello," said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism.
 They respected him
 They respected him  They thought he was too careless  They felt indifferent towards him  They thought he was only thinking about money