"Well, you girls get along with what you were doing while Bitsy here and I talk over things."

Shelley looked around with apparent surprise. "What girls are you talking to? I don't see girls here. I didn't bring my daughter along, and neither did Mrs. Jeffry. Do you, by some freak chance, consider all the talented workers on the job to be girls?"

Joe said, "You're one of them, aren't you?"

"One of what?" Shelley asked innocently.

"One of them feminists."

"Not until today," Shelley said. "Only my own father is entitled to think of me as a girl."

"I'm right sorry to hear that," he groused, turning his back to her and engaging Bitsy in a discussion of replacement workers.

Bitsy, perhaps inspired by Shelley, maybe just coming into her own, or simply having been

driven mad by lack of rest, asked, "Why should we do that, Joey boy? Do you find their work unsatisfactory without even looking at it? I've hired professionals in their fields. Some of them are women. But if you don't want to be the contractor for this, so be it."

Jane and Shelley exchanged a quick glance. Bitsy was really going out on a limb. Contractors who were ready to step in at the drop of a hat weren't thick on the ground, not even in Chicago. The good ones were all busy with other jobs.

Astonishingly, Joe made an effort to apologize without actually saying the word "sorry." "Well, if you — women — feel this way, we ought to get on with looking over what you've done so far. And make up a work schedule to get it completed."

"Very well," Bitsy said glacially.

Bitsy and Joe ascended the stairs, Joe letting her go first. Whether out of courtesy or just to see her from behind no one ever knew. Shelley was still so angry she was red in the face. Jane had never seen her this way. "Calm down. He's just an old fart."