“It’s his stomach that’s done it!” said Mr. Gloop.

  “He’s blocked the whole pipe!” said Grandpa Joe.

  “Smash the pipe!” yelled Mrs. Gloop, still waving her umbrella. “Augustus, come out of there at once!”

  The watchers below could see the chocolate swishing around the boy in the pipe, and they could see it building up behind him in a solid mass, pushing against the blockage. The pressure was terrific. Something had to give. Something did give, and that something was Augustus. WHOOF! Up he shot again like a bullet in the barrel of a gun.

  “He’s disappeared!” yelled Mrs. Gloop. “Where does that pipe go to? Quick! Call the fire brigade!”

  “Keep calm!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Keep calm, my dear lady, keep calm. There is no danger! No danger whatsoever! Augustus has gone on a little journey, that’s all. A most interesting little journey. But he’ll come out of it just fine, you wait and see.”

  “How can he possibly come out just fine!” snapped Mrs. Gloop. “He’ll be made into marshmallows in five seconds!”

  “Impossible!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Unthinkable! Inconceivable! Absurd! He could never be made into marshmallows!”

  “And why not, may I ask?” shouted Mrs. Gloop.

  “Because that pipe doesn’t go to the Marshmallow Room!” Mr. Wonka answered. “It doesn’t go anywhere near it! That pipe—the one Augustus went up—happens to lead directly to the room where I make a most delicious kind of strawberry-flavored chocolate-coated fudge. . . .”

  “Then he’ll be made into strawberry-flavored chocolate-coated fudge!” screamed Mrs. Gloop. “My poor Augustus! They’ll be selling him by the pound all over the country tomorrow morning!”

  “Quite right,” said Mr. Gloop.

  “I know I’m right,” said Mrs. Gloop.

  “It’s beyond a joke,” said Mr. Gloop.

  “Mr. Wonka doesn’t seem to think so!” cried Mrs. Gloop. “Just look at him! He’s laughing his head off! How dare you laugh like that when my boy’s just gone up the pipe! You monster!” she shrieked, pointing her umbrella at Mr. Wonka as though she were going to run him through. “You think it’s a joke, do you? You think that sucking my boy up into your Fudge Room like that is just one great big colossal joke?”

  “He’ll be perfectly safe,” said Mr. Wonka, giggling slightly.

  “He’ll be chocolate fudge!” shrieked Mrs. Gloop.

  “Never!” cried Mr. Wonka.

  “Of course he will!” shrieked Mrs. Gloop.

  “I wouldn’t allow it!” cried Mr. Wonka.

  “And why not?” shrieked Mrs. Gloop.

  “Because the taste would be terrible,” said Mr. Wonka. “Just imagine it! Augustus-flavored chocolate-coated Gloop! No one would buy it.”

  “They most certainly would!” cried Mr. Gloop indignantly.

  “I don’t want to think about it!” shrieked Mrs. Gloop.

  “Nor do I,” said Mr. Wonka. “And I do promise you, madam, that your darling boy is perfectly safe.”

  “If he’s perfectly safe, then where is he?” snapped Mrs. Gloop. “Lead me to him this instant!”

  Mr. Wonka turned around and clicked his fingers sharply, click, click, click, three times. Immediately, an Oompa-Loompa appeared, as if from nowhere, and stood beside him.

  The Oompa-Loompa bowed and smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. His skin was rosy-white, his long hair was golden-brown, and the top of his head came just above the height of Mr. Wonka’s knee. He wore the usual deerskin slung over his shoulder.

  “Now listen to me!” said Mr. Wonka, looking down at the tiny man, “I want you to take Mr. and Mrs. Gloop up to the Fudge Room and help them to find their son, Augustus. He’s just gone up the pipe.”

  The Oompa-Loompa took one look at Mrs. Gloop and exploded into peals of laughter.

  “Oh, do be quiet!” said Mr. Wonka. “Control yourself! Pull yourself together! Mrs. Gloop doesn’t think it’s at all funny!”

  “You can say that again!” said Mrs. Gloop.

  “Go straight to the Fudge Room,” Mr. Wonka said to the Oompa-Loompa, “and when you get there, take a long stick and start poking around inside the big chocolate-mixing barrel. I’m almost certain you’ll find him in there. But you’d better look sharp! You’ll have to hurry! If you leave him in the chocolate-mixing barrel too long, he’s liable to get poured out into the fudge boiler, and that really would be a disaster, wouldn’t it? My fudge would become quite uneatable!”

  Mrs. Gloop let out a shriek of fury.

  “I’m joking,” said Mr. Wonka, giggling madly behind his beard. “I didn’t mean it. Forgive me. I’m so sorry. Good-by, Mrs. Gloop! And Mr. Gloop! Good-by! Good-by! I’ll see you later. . . .”

  As Mr. and Mrs. Gloop and their tiny escort hurried away, the five Oompa-Loompas on the far side of the river suddenly began hopping and dancing about and beating wildly upon a number of very small drums. “Augustus Gloop!” they chanted. “Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop!”

  “Grandpa!” cried Charlie. “Listen to them, Grandpa! What are they doing?”

  “Ssshh!” whispered Grandpa Joe. “I think they’re going to sing us a song!”

  “Augustus Gloop!” chanted the Oompa-Loompas.

  “Augustus Gloop! Augustus Gloop!

  The great big greedy nincompoop!

  How long could we allow this beast

  To gorge and guzzle, feed and feast

  On everything he wanted to?

  Great Scott! It simply wouldn’t do!

  However long this pig might live,

  We’re positive he’d never give

  Even the smallest bit of fun

  Or happiness to anyone.

  So what we do in cases such

  As this, we use the gentle touch,

  And carefully we take the brat

  And turn him into something that

  Will give great pleasure to us all—

  A doll, for instance, or a ball,

  Or marbles or a rocking horse.

  But this revolting boy, of course,

  Was so unutterably vile,

  So greedy, foul, and infantile,

  He left a most disgusting taste

  Inside our mouths, and so in haste

  We chose a thing that, come what may,

  Would take the nasty taste away.

  ‘Come on!’ we cried, ‘The time is ripe

  To send him shooting up the pipe!

  He has to go! It has to be!’

  And very soon, he’s going to see

  Inside the room to which he’s gone

  Some funny things are going on.

  But don’t, dear children, be alarmed;

  Augustus Gloop will not be harmed,

  Although, of course, we must admit

  He will be altered quite a bit.

  He’ll be quite changed from what he’s been,

  When he goes through the fudge machine:

  Slowly, the wheels go round and round,

  The cogs begin to grind and pound;

  A hundred knives to slice, slice, slice;

  We add some sugar, cream, and spice;

  We boil him for a minute more,

  Until we’re absolutely sure

  That all the greed and all the gall

  Is boiled away for once and all.

  Then out he comes! And now! By grace!

  A miracle has taken place!

  This boy, who only just before

  Was loathed by men from shore to shore,

  This greedy brute, this louse’s ear,

  Is loved by people everywhere!

  For who could hate or bear a grudge

  Against a luscious bit of fudge?”

  “I told you they loved singing!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Aren’t they delightful? Aren’t they charming? But you mustn’t believe a word they said. It’s all nonsense, every bit of it!”

  “Are the Oompa-Loompas really joking, Grandpa?” asked Charlie.

  “Of course they’re joking,” answered Grandpa Joe. “They must be joking. At least, I hope they’re joking. Don’t you?”

  18

  Down the Chocolate River

  “OFF WE GO!” cried Mr. Wonka. “Hurry up, everybody! Follow me to the next room! And please don’t worry about Augustus Gloop. He’s bound to come out in the wash. They always do. We shall have to make the next part of the journey by boat! Here she comes! Look!”

  A steamy mist was rising up now from the great warm chocolate river, and out of the mist there appeared suddenly a most fantastic pink boat. It was a large open rowboat with a tall front and a tall back (like a Viking boat of old), and it was of such a shining sparkling glistening pink color that the whole thing looked as though it were made of bright, pink glass. There were many oars on either side of it, and as the boat came closer, the watchers on the riverbank could see that the oars were being pulled by masses of Oompa-Loompas—at least ten of them to each oar.

  “This is my private yacht!” cried Mr. Wonka, beaming with pleasure. “I made her by hollowing out an enormous boiled sweet! Isn’t she beautiful! See how she comes cutting through the river!”

  The gleaming pink boiled-sweet boat glided up to the riverbank. One hundred Oompa-Loompas rested on their oars and stared up at the visitors. Then suddenly, for some reason best known to themselves, they all burst into shrieks of laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Violet Beauregarde.

  “Oh, don’t worry about them!” cried Mr. Wonka. “They’re always laughing! They think everything’s a colossal joke! Jump into the boat, all of you! Come on! Hurry up!”

  As soon as everyone was safely in, the Oompa-Loompas pushed the boat away from the bank and began to row swiftly down river.

  “Hey, there! Mike Teavee!” shouted Mr. Wonka. “Please do not lick the boat with your tongue! It’ll only make it sticky!”

  “Daddy,” said Veruca Salt, “I want a boat like this! I want you to buy me a big pink boiled-sweet boat exactly like Mr. Wonka’s! And I want lots of Oompa-Loompas to row me about, and I want a chocolate river and I want . . . I want . . . ”

  “She wants a good kick in the pants,” whispered Grandpa Joe to Charlie. The old man was sitting in the back of the boat and little Charlie Bucket was right beside him. Charlie was holding tightly onto his grandfather’s bony old hand. He was in a whirl of excitement. Everything that he had seen so far—the great chocolate river, the waterfall, the huge sucking pipes, the candy meadows, the Oompa-Loompas, the beautiful pink boat, and most of all, Mr. Willy Wonka himself—had been so astonishing that he began to wonder whether there could possibly be any more astonishments left. Where were they going now? What were they going to see? And what in the world was going to happen in the next room?

  “Isn’t it marvelous?” said Grandpa Joe, grinning at Charlie.

  Charlie nodded and smiled up at the old man.

  Suddenly, Mr. Wonka, who was sitting on Charlie’s other side, reached down into the bottom of the boat, picked up a large mug, dipped it into the river, filled it with chocolate, and handed it to Charlie. “Drink this,” he said. “It’ll do you good! You looked starved to death!”

  Then Mr. Wonka filled a second mug and gave it to Grandpa Joe. “You, too,” he said. “You look like a skeleton! What’s the matter? Hasn’t there been anything to eat in your house lately?”

  “Not much,” said Grandpa Joe.

  Charlie put the mug to his lips, and as the rich warm creamy chocolate ran down his throat into his empty tummy, his whole body from head to toe began to tingle with pleasure, and a feeling of intense happiness spread over him.

  “You like it?” asked Mr. Wonka.

  “Oh, it’s wonderful!” Charlie said.

  “The creamiest loveliest chocolate I’ve ever tasted!” said Grandpa Joe, smacking his lips.

  “That’s because it’s been mixed by waterfall,” Mr. Wonka told him.

  The boat sped on down the river. The river was getting narrower. There was some kind of a dark tunnel ahead—a great round tunnel that looked like an enormous pipe—and the river was running right into the tunnel. And so was the boat! “Row on!” shouted Mr. Wonka, jumping up and waving his stick in the air. “Full speed ahead!” And with the Oompa-Loompas rowing faster than ever, the boat shot into the pitch-dark tunnel, and all the passengers screamed with excitement.

  “How can they see where they’re going?” shrieked Violet Beauregarde in the darkness.

  “There’s no knowing where they’re going!” cried Mr. Wonka, hooting with laughter.

  “There’s no earthly way of knowing

  Which direction they are going!

  There’s no knowing where they’re rowing,

  Or which way the river’s flowing!

  Not a speck of light is showing,

  So the danger must be growing,

  For the rowers keep on rowing,

  And they’re certainly not showing

  Any signs that they are slowing. . . .”

  “He’s gone off his rocker!” shouted one of the fathers, aghast, and the other parents joined in the chorus of frightened shouting. “He’s crazy!” they shouted.

  “He’s balmy!”

  “He’s nutty!”

  “He’s screwy!”

  “He’s batty!”

  “He’s dippy!”

  “He’s dotty!”

  “He’s daffy!”

  “He’s goofy!”

  “He’s beany!”

  “He’s buggy!”

  “He’s wacky!”

  “He’s loony!”

  “No, he is not!” said Grandpa Joe.

  “Switch on the lights!” shouted Mr. Wonka. And suddenly, on came the lights and the whole tunnel was brilliantly lit up, and Charlie could see that they were indeed inside a gigantic pipe, and the great upward-curving walls of the pipe were pure white and spotlessly clean. The river of chocolate was flowing very fast inside the pipe, and the Oompa-Loompas were all rowing like crazy, and the boat was rocketing along at a furious pace. Mr. Wonka was jumping up and down in the back of the boat and calling to the rowers to row faster and faster still. He seemed to love the sensation of whizzing through a white tunnel in a pink boat on a chocolate river, and he clapped his hands and laughed and kept glancing at his passengers to see if they were enjoying it as much as he.

  “Look, Grandpa!” cried Charlie. “There’s a door in the wall!” It was a green door and it was set into the wall of the tunnel just above the level of the river. As they flashed past it there was just enough time to read the writing on the door: STOREROOM NUMBER 54, it said. ALL THE CREAMS—DAIRY CREAM, WHIPPED CREAM, VIOLET CREAM, COFFEE CREAM, PINEAPPLE CREAM, VANILLA CREAM, AND HAIR CREAM.

  “Hair cream?” cried Mike Teavee. “You don’t use hair cream?”

  “Row on!” shouted Mr. Wonka. “There’s no time to answer silly questions!”

  They streaked past a black door. STOREROOM NUMBER 71, it said on it. WHIPS—ALL SHAPES AND SIZES.

  “Whips!” cried Veruca Salt. “What on earth do you use whips for?”

  “For whipping cream, of course,” said Mr. Wonka. “How can you whip cream without whips? Whipped cream isn’t whipped cream at all unless it’s been whipped with whips. Just as a poached egg isn’t a poached egg unless it’s been stolen from the woods in the dead of night! Row on, please!”

  They passed a yellow door on which it said: STOREROOM NUMBER 77—ALL THE BEANS, CACAO BEANS, COFFEE BEANS, JELLY BEANS, AND HAS BEANS.

  “Has beans?” cried Violet Beauregarde.

  “You’re one yourself!” said Mr. Wonka. “There’s no time for arguing! Press on, press on!” But five seconds later, when a bright red door came into sight ahead, he suddenly waved his gold-topped cane in the air and shouted, “Stop the boat!”

  19

  The Inventing Room—Everlasting Gobstoppers and Hair Toffee

  WHEN MR. WONKA SHOUTED “Stop the boat!”, the Oompa-Loompas jammed their oars into the river and backed water furiously. The boat stopped.

  The Oompa-Loompas guided the boat alongside the red door. On the door it said, INVENTING ROOM—PRIVATE—KEEP OUT. Mr. Wonka took a key from his pocket, leaned over the side of the boat, and put the key in the keyhole.

  “This is the most important room in the entire factory!” he said. “All my most secret new inventions are cooking and simmering in here! Old Fickelgruber would give his front teeth to be allowed inside just for three minutes! So would Prodnose and Slugworth and all the other rotten chocolate makers! But now, listen to me! I want no messing about when you go in! No touching, no meddling, and no tasting! Is that agreed?”

  “Yes, yes!” the children cried. “We won’t touch a thing!”

  “Up to now,” Mr. Wonka said, “nobody else, not even an Oompa-Loompa, has ever been allowed in here!” He opened the door and stepped out of the boat into the room. The four children and their parents all scrambled after him.

  “Don’t touch!” shouted Mr. Wonka. “And don’t knock anything over!”

  Charlie Bucket started around the gigantic room in which he now found himself. The place was like a witch’s kitchen! All about him black metal pots were boiling and bubbling on huge stoves, and kettles were hissing and pans were sizzling, and strange iron machines were clanking and spluttering, and there were pipes running all over the ceiling and walls, and the whole place was filled with smoke and steam and delicious rich smells.

  Mr. Wonka himself had suddenly become even more excited than usual, and anyone could see that this was the room he loved best of all. He was hopping about among the saucepans and the machines like a child among his Christmas presents, not knowing which thing to look at first. He lifted the lid from a huge pot and took a sniff; then he rushed over and dipped a finger into a barrel of sticky yellow stuff and had a taste; then he skipped across to one of the machines and turned half a dozen knobs this way and that; then he peered anxiously through the glass door of a gigantic oven, rubbing his hands and cackling with delight at what he saw inside. Then he ran over to another machine, a small shiny affair that kept going phut-phut-phut-phut-phut, and every time it went phut, a large green marble dropped out of it into a basket on the floor. At least it looked like a marble.