Vonnie had brought the new freedom into his life.
"No doubt about his being yours," she went on. "Everything up to the chin is you—of course I'm just guessing—but Maria left him those eyes and that nose. Maybe she left him more than that. He's marked for the show business. You might as well make up your mind to that."
"He's going to be a newspaper man," cut in Peter sharply.
"Oh, I see. Got it all fixed. If he begins to bust out singing or playing the piano or something you won't let him. That's it, isn't it?"
"I'm going to shape him in that direction."
"Just shape him, hey? Boy, didn't you ever bust bang into the artistic temperament? I played a season once with William Faversham. Shape him? You can't beat him out of it with a club. I don't know yet what way he's going to jump but I want to put down a little bet this kid of yours is going to be some kind of an artist."
"Don't keep saying that. I tell you he's coming on the Bulletin. His name's Peter Neale."
"You could name him Rosenberg and that wouldn't make him a pawnbroker."
"But this is in his blood just like in mine. He can't help himself. He's just got to be a newspaper man."
"All right we won't fight about it. You say he's going to be a newspaper man and I tell you he's going to be an artist. Maybe he won't be anything but a moving picture actor."