"I'd best go and talk to the hermit,"--and so he
strolled off out of the hum of men, and noise, and clatter of the
banquet, into the dark walk, at the end of which lived that well-
known pasteboard Solitary. It wasn't very good fun for Dobbin--and,
indeed, to be alone at Vauxhall, I have found, from my own
experience, to be one of the most dismal sports ever entered into by
a bachelor.
The two couples were perfectly happy then in their box: where the
most delightful and intimate conversation took place. Jos was in
his glory, ordering about the waiters with great majesty. He made
the salad; and uncorked the Champagne; and carved the chickens; and
ate and drank the greater part of the refreshments on the tables.
Finally, he insisted upon having a bowl of rack punch; everybody had
rack punch at Vauxhall. "Waiter, rack punch."
That bowl of rack punch was the cause of all this history. And why
not a bowl of rack punch as well as any other cause? Was not a bowl
of prussic acid the cause of Fair Rosamond's retiring from the
world? Was not a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of Alexander
the Great, or, at least, does not Dr. Lempriere say so?--so did this
bowl of rack punch influence the fates of all the principal
characters in this "Novel without a Hero," which we are now
relating. It influenced their life, although most of them did not
taste a drop of it.
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