"Forever, Feetch?"
"Yes sir." Klunk! Klunk!
"You're positive, Feetch?" Piltdon's eyes glared into Feetch's.
"Sir, I never make careless claims."
"That's true," said Piltdon. His eyes grew dreamy. "It can be done," he mused. "The New Type Super-Opener. Free exchanges for the old. Cash guarantee that empty cans will never bother you. Take a licking at first, but then monopolize the market. All right, Feetch, I'll give you another chance. You'll turn over all the details to me. The patent on the improvement will naturally be mine. I'll get the credit for rectifying your blunder. Fine, fine. We'll work it out. Hop on production, at once, Feetch."
Feetch felt himself sag inwardly. "Mr. Piltdon," he said. "I'm asking only one favor. Let me work full time on research and development, especially on the Piltdon effect. Hire a couple of extra men to help with production. I assure you the company will benefit in the end."
"Damn it, no!" roared Piltdon. "How many times must I tell you? You got your job back, didn't you?"
The prospect of long years of heavy production schedules, restricted engineering and tight supervision suddenly made Kalvin Feetch feel very tired. Research, he thought. Development. What he had always wanted. Over the years he had waited, thinking that there would be opportunities later. But now he was growing older, and he felt that there might not be a later. Somehow he would manage to get along. Perhaps someone would give him a job working in the new field he had pioneered. With a sense of relief he realized that he had made his decision.
"Mr. Piltdon," Feetch said. "I—" klunk!—"resign."
Piltdon started, extreme astonishment crossing his face.