 How did Piltdon feel about Feetch throughout most of the story?
"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? Our own Piltdon opener barely manages to open a can in eight point nine without chimes. 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. "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. 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." They began testing, Hanson operating the openers and Feetch clocking. "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? "Hello," said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism. "Spinach, I think," said Feetch. "Dear, dear," said Feetch, regarding the piles of food on the bench. Several days later, however, Piltdon himself charged into the drawing room and slapped Feetch heartily on the back, causing him to break a pencil point. "Feetch!" roared Piltdon. After Piltdon had seen it his eyes took on a feverish glint. "Mr. Piltdon—" said Feetch shakily.
 Feetch was just another worker to control
 He thought Feetch was brilliant  Feetch deserved credit for his work  Feetch was making more money than he deserved  Feetch was just another worker to control