No waiting either.

The pudding-plates had been washed in a little tub outside the door while cheese was on, and though they were moist and warm with friction, still there they were again, up to the mark, and true to time.

Quarts of almonds; dozens of oranges; pounds of raisins; stacks of biffins; soup-plates full of nuts .-- Oh, Todgers's could do it when it chose! mind that.
Then more wine came on; red wines and white wines; and a large china bowl of punch, brewed by the gentleman of a convivial turn, who adjured the Miss Pecksniffs not to be despondent on account of its dimensions, as there were materials in the house for the decoction of half a dozen more of the same size.

Good gracious, how they laughed! How they coughed when they sipped it, because it was so strong; and how they laughed again when somebody vowed that but for its colour it might have been mistaken, in regard of its innocuous qualities, for new milk! What a shout of 'No!' burst from the gentlemen when they pathetically implored Mr Jinkins to suffer them to qualify it with hot water; and how blushingly, by little and little, did each of them drink her whole glassful, down to its very dregs! Now comes the trying time.

The sun, as Mr Jinkins says (gentlemanly creature, Jinkins--never at a loss!), is about to leave the firmament.
'Miss Pecksniff!' says Mrs Todgers, softly, 'will you-- ?' 'Oh dear, no more, Mrs Todgers.' Mrs Todgers rises; the two Miss Pecksniffs rise; all rise.