Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
"Feetch!" grated Ogden Piltdon, president of the Piltdon Opener Company, slamming the drafting board with his hairy fist, "I want results!" savagely. "The Piltdon Can-Opener is trailing the competition. "But Mr. Piltdon," remonstrated Feetch unsteadily under his employer's "For two years there hasn't been one lousy improvement in the Piltdon "But Mr. Piltdon—" Feetch adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. "But Mr. Piltdon, "Dignity," pronounced Piltdon, "is for museums. Four months, Feetch! want it completely developed, engineered and tooled-up, ready for production. Otherwise, Feetch—" Feetch's body twitched. "But Mr. Piltdon, four months is hardly time production headaches, inadequate facilities and assistance. What had happened, to the proud dream he once had, the dream of exploring develop? Ah, well, thought Feetch straightening his thin shoulders, he had Since the early 1980's the schools had been turning out more technicians than industry could absorb. He was too old to compete in the employment market. He couldn't afford to lose any money. Jenny wasn't well. How to meet this four month dead-line? He would get right on it himself, of course Hanson—good man—could work with him. He shook his head despairingly. Something would be sure to blow up. Well, he had to 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 but who has heard of Feetch? Well,"—Feetch blew his nose—"how do we unsatisfactory." "Hello," said Feetch as an aproned machinist entered carrying a answer! It's more than the answer! We can put this right into work and beat the dead-line." Several days later, however, Piltdon himself charged into the drawing pencil point. "Feetch!" roared Piltdon. "Is this talk that's going After Piltdon had seen it his eyes took on a feverish glint. "This," "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?" "Feetch," bit out Piltdon, his face growing hard. "Stow this hooey. I 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." Close, thought Feetch, wearily. It had been a man-killing job, and it a sell-out!" crowed Piltdon, waving a sheaf of telegrams. "Step up production! Let 'er rip!" sales to one to a customer. Piltdon cancelled his advertising program. any departure from its exact specifications nullified the effect. Piltdon, genial these days with success and acclaim, roared at Feetch: "I'm putting you in for a raise. Yes sir! To reward you for assisting me with my invention I'm raising your pay two hundred dollars a year. That's almost four dollars a week, man." "Thank you, Mr. Piltdon." And still, thought Feetch wryly, he received no recognition. His name did not even appear on the patent. Well, well, that was the way it went. He must find his satisfaction in his work. And it had been interesting lately, the work he had been doing nights at home investigating what had been named the Piltdon Effect. expensive. He was a fool, he supposed, to try independent research when so many huge scientific organizations were working on it. But he could He still didn't know where the cans went, but somehow he felt that he was close to the answer. When he finally found the answer, it was too late. The Borenchuck incident was only hours away. As soon as he could get hold of Piltdon, Feetch said trembling, "Sir, I Feetch?" "You're through, Feetch!" raved Piltdon. "Fired! Get out! But before Piltdon's huge desk. "No!" yelled Piltdon at Feetch's face which was "You're positive, Feetch?" Piltdon's eyes glared into Feetch's. 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 "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 "Mr. Piltdon," Feetch said. "I—" klunk!—"resign." Piltdon started, extreme astonishment crossing his face. "Feetch!" howled Piltdon. "I order you to remain!" Feetch almost submitted from force of habit. He hesitated for a moment, "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 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. Piltdon, Feetch thought, feeling a strange sensation deep within his chest that he had not the experience to recognize as the beginning of a No, Feetch told himself, he was revealing nothing that Piltdon might grab. The anger began to mount. But he was beginning to need money desperately. Jenny wasn't getting any better and medical bills were running high. not." "I'll go up another ten dollars," grated the little Piltdon image. "Do you realize, man, this is the fourteenth raise I've offered you? A total increase of one hundred and twenty-six dollars? Be sensible, Feetch. I know you can't find work anywhere else." Feetch blinked. This had not occurred to him. Piltdon eyed him sharply, then smiled with a hint of triumph. "Think it Feetch sat, thinking it over. Was it right to let all these people lose figured the Super-Opener can solve this." Feetch hung up. A glow of anger that had been building up in his chest grew warmer. He began pacing the floor. How he hated to do it. Think, Feetch walked into the kitchen and carefully poured himself a drink of Think? He'd figured the solution long ago, only he hadn't allowed himself to see it. Not lack of brains, lack of guts. Well, he thought grimly, dialing Piltdon's number, he was going through with it now. "Piltdon!" he barked. "Three p.m. tomorrow. My place. Be here. That's Piltdon leaped from his chair. "Outrageous!" He roared. "Ridiculous!" "Well," murmured the Government man, "I never did think Feetch got a "Mr Feetch—" said Piltdon. Feetch looked up from his desk in the newly constructed Feetch Multi-Dimensional Development Division of the Piltdon Opener Company. "Piltdon, don't bother me about production. Production is your problem." "But Mr. Feetch—" "Get out," said Feetch. Piltdon blanched and left.

<question>:
Why didn't Feetch show Piltdon his new invention right away?

<options>:
A He wanted to keep the new invention to himself
B He knew Piltdon wouldn't wait to research further
C He was afraid he couldn't recreate it
D He wanted a raise first

<answer>:

B