To return from this digression. When Turpin presented himself at the threshold of the door, on his way to inquire after his mare, to his astonishment he found it closely invested. A cheering shout from the tawny throng, succeeded by a general clapping of hands, and attended by a buzzing susurration of applause, such as welcomes the entrance of a popular actor upon the stage, greeted the appearance of the highwayman. At the first sight of the crowd he was a little startled, and involuntarily sought for his pistols. But the demonstrations of admiration were too unequivocal to be for a moment mistaken; his hand was drawn from his pocket to raise his hat from his brow. Thunders of applause. Turpin's external man, we have before said, was singularly prepossessing. It was especially so in the eyes of _the_ sex--fair we certainly cannot say upon the present occasion--, amongst whom not a single dissentient voice was to be heard. All concurred in thinking him a fine fellow; could plainly read his high courage in his bearing; his good breeding in his débonnaire deportment; and his manly beauty in his extravagant red whiskers. Dick saw the effect that he produced. He was at home in a moment. Your true highwayman has ever a passion for effect. This does not desert him at the gallows; it rises superior to death itself, and has been known to influence the manner of his dangling from the gibbet! To hear some one cry, "There goes a proper handsome man," saith our previously quoted authority, Jack Hall, "somewhat ameliorates the terrible thoughts of the meagre tyrant death; and to go in a dirty shirt were enough to save the hangman a labor, and make a man die with grief and shame at being in that deplorable condition." With a gracious smile of condescension, like a popular orator--with a look of blarney like that of O'Connell, and of assurance like that of Hume--he surveyed the male portion of the spectators, tipped a knowing wink at the prettiest brunettes he could select, and finally cut a sort of fling with his well-booted legs, that brought down another appeal of rapturous applause. "A rank scamp!"[29] cried the upright man; and this exclamation, however equivocal it may sound, was intended, on his part, to be highly complimentary. "I believe ye," returned the ruffler, stroking his chin--"one may see that he's no half swell by the care with which he cultivates the best gifts of nature, his whiskers. He's a rank nib."[30] "Togged out to the ruffian, no doubt," said the palliard, who was incomparably the shabbiest rascal in the corps. "Though a needy mizzler mysel, I likes to see a cove vot's vel dressed. Jist twig his swell kickseys and pipes;[31] if they ain't the thing, I'm done. Lame Harry can't dance better nor he--no, nor Jerry Juniper neither." "I'm dumb founded," roared the dummerar, "if he can't patter romany[32] as vel as the best on us! He looks like a rum 'un."