Uncle

Loved by reprobate comets, mothered by gypsy women, automobile racers have few ties in the world through which they dash, and seldom acknowledge human kin. But, in the famed 500-mile sweepstakes at Indianapolis last week, Ralph de Palma, veteran driver, had a nephew--a dark diminutive youth with a countenance like a mask bitten out of sandstone by the wind. Uncle de Palma was a trifle worried. The boy was reckless; he might do himself harm. All day, as the cars circled, he kept his eye on the little cream-colored machine driven by Nephew Pete de Paolo. The whippersnapper was assuredly reckless, for the first 50 miles he led the roaring, crackling, reeking, spitting pack at a canter of 104 mi. an hour, was passed by Racer Cooper, took the lead again after Cooper had turned his $10,000 machine into a smear of debris against a concrete wall in the 124th lap. Would he learn no caution, that boy ?

The first of the cars crossed the finish line. At his pit, a diminutive dark young man was removing a pair of goggles. Fifty cameras clicked. The young man grinned, inquired:

"How did Uncle come out?"

"He was seventh," they told him.

At that moment, De Palma, proud uncle, came bustling up to hear De Paolo (whose average speed of 101.13 mi. an hour had broken all records for the sweepstakes) being congratulated by a wealthy auto manufacturer.

"Pete, it was a wonderful race you drove," this individual was saying.

"Thanks, it was a wonderful car I had, Mr. Dusenberg," replied De Paolo.