Sport: 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...

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