 What didn't Feetch get at the end of the story?
"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 is built to last. It has dignity...." "Dignity," pronounced Piltdon, "is for museums. Four months, Feetch! 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. What had happened, to the proud dream he once had, the dream of exploring uncharted engineering regions, of unlimited time to investigate and develop? 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. "Well, well," said Feetch. Piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of Feetch? "Hello," said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism.
 Piltdon's job
 Money to pay for his wife's medical bills  Credit for his discoveries  The job he wanted  Piltdon's job