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Unduly elated by this victory, perhaps, one of my colleagues who had been a skipper on seagoing tramps before adopting the more hazardous profession of the press, resented, a few days later, being “cooped up” in the press box at Punchestown races which King Edward was to attend in semi-state. Nothing would content his soul but a place on the Royal Stand. I accompanied him to see the fun, but regretted my temerity when, without challenge, we stood, surrounded by princes and peers of Ireland, at the top of the gangway up which the King was to come. I think they put down my friend the skipper as the King’s private detective. He wore a blue reefer coat and a bowler hat with a curly brim. By good luck I was in a tall hat and morning suit, like the rest of the company. Presently the King came, in a little pageant of state carriages with outriders in scarlet and gold, and then, with his gentlemen, he ascended the gangway, shaking hands with all who were assembled on the stairs. The skipper, who was a great patriot, and loved King Edward as a “regular fellow,” betrayed himself by the warmth of his greeting. Grasping the King’s hand in a sailorman’s grip, he shook it long and ardently, and expressed the hope that His Majesty was quite well.