"chief," said hanson a few weeks later as they entered the lab, "i'm beginning to wonder if the answer is in the hand mechanical type at all."
"got to be," answered feetch tiredly. "we must work along classical can-opener lines. departures, such as the thermal or motor-driven types, would be too expensive for mass production."
three new models and a group of cans were waiting for them on the bench. they began testing, hanson operating the openers and feetch clocking. "four point four," announced feetch after the last test. "good, but not good enough. too bulky. appearance unsatisfactory. chimes tinny. we've made progress, but we've a long way to go."
the problem was tricky. it might seem that use of the proper gear ratios would give the required velocity, but there were too many other factors that negated this direct approach. the mechanism had to be compact and streamlined. gear sizes had to be kept down. can-top resistance, internal resistance, cutting tooth performance, handle size and moment, the minimum strength of a woman's hand were some of the variables that had to be balanced within rigid limits. sector type cutters, traversing several arcs at the same time, had seemed to offer the answer for a while, but the adjusting mechanism necessary to compensate for variable can sizes had been too complex to be practical. there was the ever-present limit to production cost.
hanson's eyes were upon him. "chief," he said, "it's a rotten shame. 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. "i drew my pay every week so i suppose i have no complaints. although," a wistful note crept into his voice "i would have liked a little recognition. piltdon is a household word, but who has heard of feetch? well,"—feetch blew his nose—"how do we stand, hanson?"
hanson's bull-dog features drew into a scowl. "piltdon ought to be rayed," he growled. "o.k., chief. eleven experimental models designed to date. two more on the boards. nine completed and tested, two in work. best performance, four point four, but model otherwise unsatisfactory."
"hello," said feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a glistening mechanism. "here's another model. let's try it." the machinist departed and hanson locked the opener on a can. "i hope——" he turned the handle, and stopped abruptly, staring down open-mouthed.
a cylinder of close-packed beans rested on the bench under the opener.
the can itself had disappeared.
"chief," said hanson. "chief."
"yes," said feetch. "i see it too. try another can."
"vegetable soup or spinach?" inquired hanson dreamily.
"spinach, i think," said feetch. "where did the can go, do you suppose?"
the spinach can disappeared. likewise several corn cans, sweet potato cans and corned-beef hash cans, leaving their contents intact. it was rather disconcerting.
"dear, dear," said feetch, regarding the piles of food on the bench. "there must be some explanation. i designed this opener with sixteen degree, twenty-two minute pressure angle modified involute gear teeth, seven degree, nineteen minute front clearance cutter angle and thirty-six degree, twelve minute back rake angle. i expected that such departures from the norm might achieve unconventional performance, but this—dear, dear. where do the cans go, i wonder?"
"what's the difference? don't you see what you've got here? it's the answer! it's more than the answer! we can put this right into work and beat the dead-line."
feetch shook his head. "no, hanson. we're producing something we don't understand. what forces have we uncovered here? where do the cans go? what makes them disappear? are we dealing with a kinetic or a kinematic effect? what motions can we plot in the area of disappearance and what are their analytical mathematical formulae? what masses may be critical here? what transformations of energy are involved? no, hanson, we must learn a lot more."
"but chief, your job."
"i'll risk that. not a word to piltdon."
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. "is this talk that's going around the plant true? why didn't you tell me? let's see it."
after piltdon had seen it his eyes took on a feverish glint. "this," he exulted, "will make can-opener history. instantaneous opening! automatic disposal! wait until advertising and sales get hold of this! we'll throttle our competitors! the piltdon super-opener we'll call it."
"mr. piltdon—" said feetch shakily.
piltdon stared at his chief engineer sharply. "what's the matter, feetch? the thing can be duplicated, can't it?"
"yes, sir. i've just finished checking that. but i'm in the midst of further investigation of the effect. there's more here than just a new type can-opener, sir. a whole new field of physics. new principles. this is big, mr. piltdon. i recommend that we delay production until further research can be completed. hire a few top scientists and engineers. find out where the cans go. put out a scientific paper on the effect."
"feetch," bit out piltdon, his face growing hard. "stow this hooey. i don't give a damn where the cans go. may i remind you that under our standard patent agreement, all rights to your invention belong to the company? as well as anything you may produce in the field within a year after leaving our employ? we have a good thing here, and i don't want you holding it back. we're going into production immediately."
