"No use," said Feetch. "Nothing you can say—" klunk! klunk! klunk!—"will make any difference now."
"But see here, the New Type Super-Opener...!"
"Will remain my secret. Good day."
"Feetch!" howled Piltdon. "I order you to remain!"
Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, then turned abruptly.
"Good-day," said Feetch firmly, sprinting through the falling cans to the door.
Money, Feetch decided after a while, was a good thing to have. His supply was running pretty low. He was not having any luck finding another job. Although the cans had stopped falling on the fifteenth day, as predicted by the statisticians, industry would not soon forget the inconvenience and losses caused by the deluge. It was not anxious to hire the man it regarded as responsible for the whole thing. "Feetch," the personnel man would read. "Kalvin Feetch." Then, looking up, "Not the Kalvin Feetch who—"
"Yes," Feetch would admit miserably.
"I am sorry, but—"