The bell rang on the door to the candy store.

"Good day to you, sir, and pardon me."

The store proprietor paused over a box of jawbreakers. Children called him the Candyman. It was spelled that way to distinguish him from the other Candy Man.

When children called him by that distinctive name, the Candyman didn't mind at all. He was quite agreeable, this candy-selling fellow. So much so that he said this:

"No trouble at all, sir."

"I do so like causing trouble," the new arrival said with a grin. Two gloved hands curled around a cane. "But not today. Today is a day to spread goodness, my fine fellow. A day to do good."

"Every day is a day to do good."

Briefly, the Candyman took note of his visitor. Much older than the children who walked in, clearly. But though he looked like an adult male, there was something in his face, his eyes, his smile that spoke of a child, an imp. An imp more mischievous and mysterious than most.

Maybe it was the way he was dressed. He was clothed in all purple, various shades of it. His coat was dark purple, his very large bow tie a light purple, and his floppy hat a medium purple. The hat was of a kind the Mad Hatter might wear at a tea party in Wonderland.

There was also the greeting the man offered, the way he spoke. So formal, so polite. Quite frankly, he seemed to be overdoing it on the politeness. Although, was it possible to overdo it on politeness?

There was also the voice: gentle but with a trace of eccentricity, maybe even madness.

There was also the cane, which the man in purple pointed.

"Has anyone ever told you that you bear some resemblance to Orson Bean?"

The Candyman smiled. Of course he had been smiling ever since the man in purple walked in. Now that smile simply got wider.

"Orson Bean. Who might that be?"

"An actor. He was in an episode of 'The Twilight Zone.' Played a man who had his life changed in the most wonderful ways." The funny fellow glanced around absently as he waved his cane up and down. "Well! That's neither here nor there." Looking deep in thought, he let his cane rest. "Scratch that. Obviously Orson Bean must be somewhere. As are you and I, sir. After all, wherever we go, there we are."

It was early in the morning, and the Candyman was not busy. So he was willing to tolerate some shenanigans. Actually, since he dealt with children a great deal, he usually had to tolerate a great deal of stuff and nonsense.

Thus, the Candyman decided to get into the spirit of the situation.

"Quite so, sir. Here we are!" he agreed cheerfully. In a casual relaxed manner, he leaned on a box of jawbreakers. "How may I help you this fine morning?"

When the visitor smiled, it was a little off. Not in a way that hinted at malice, mind you. More like the man was full of mirth.

"What if I told you that in order to receive a large inheritance of millions of dollars I must recklessly spend a great deal of money?"

The Candyman's eyebrows shot up as he spoke, and he looked and sounded a lot like the Orson Bean he was so unfamiliar with.

"Is that true, sir?"

"No, it is not," the unusual stranger said. "That was simply an idea I had for a movie. Maybe it could star that Richard Pryor fellow from America." He turned around, whirled back into a facing position. "Now," he said, breathing in deeply. "Let me ask you this. Do you think most people want to be rich?"

With Orson-Bean-like eyebrows up as he sported a polite smile, the Candyman shrugged. "I suppose they do, sir."

"It beats the alternative, doesn't it? It's like the high cost of living. Most people prefer it to the alternative." He leaned in, smiled. "They told that joke on 'Laugh-In' once."

"Did they now, sir?" The Candyman couldn't help thinking that this man's thoughts must whirl around at a fantastic rate. Yes, it seemed this man had a dizzying intellect. As a result, the Candyman was starting to feel a little dizzy himself.

The man of intellect, appearing not at all dizzy, went on. "Let me tell you what I believe, sir. I believe most people want to be rich. Not just so they can buy nice things for themselves, mind you, but so they can help others." When he pointed his cane, it did not come across as threatening but simply friendly. "Do you believe that as well, sir?"

"I do, sir," the Candyman said, as solemnly as if he were in court.

"Good. In that case, I would like to pay you a great deal of money just to sing a song."

The Candyman's eyes grew big. "I'm all ears, sir."

The man laughed as he waved his cane. "Clearly that is not the case, my good man! If you were all ears, you would not be able to talk or think. You'd have no brains, sir!" He leaned in to speak quietly. "Of course, some people without brains do an awful lot of talking, don't they?"

"Yes, sir! Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course!" A gentle grin was followed by a sudden serious look. The Man In Purple thrust a sheet of paper into the Candyman's hands. "Here is the song, sir."

As he read, the Candyman mumbled such words as "sunrise," "dew," "tomorrow" and "dream."

"A very cheery song, sir," the Candyman said with a chuckle.

"Better than a cherry song." The man gestured to the items around him. "Though I understand that cherries, like candy, are quite sweet, too."

It was like this fellow was off in his own world. Nevertheless, the Candyman went along to that world.

"It's a very appropriate song for a candy store, sir."

"Is it? You really think so?"

" I do, sir." As he put the paper in his pocket, he chuckled once again. "You know, when I was a child, I sang in the school plays."

"I am aware of that, sir. I have done my due diligence. Studied you, learned about you. I leave very little to chance."

"A sound business practice, sir."

Now the man tilted sideways as, with one hand, he leaned on the cane. Then, with one leg raised, he used his free hand to hold out a check.

"Will this sum be sufficient, sir, for the singing of the song?"

The Candyman gingerly took the check, afraid perhaps that yanking away the check would knock the man off balance. As he held the check with both hands, his eyes grew very wide indeed.

"Very generous indeed, sir!" As he lowered the check, he looked perplexed. "And yet….that is to say, sir. Uh….Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, sir-"

The man made a face. "Why would you do that? It would be grotesque. He might have bad teeth. He might have bad breath." He waved a gloved hand before his nose. Then he held up a warning finger. "In any case, sir, let me be clear: a horse is not included in our arrangement. You are free to buy one, of course. Unless you can arrange a fairy godmother to turn mice into horses."

"Yes, sir," the Candyman stammered. "What I mean is….It's very generous…."

"Please don't sputter," the man said, wiping his face. "I didn't bring an umbrella."

"May I ask why, sir?"

"Why? Because I wasn't expecting rain. Or sputtering."

"No, sir. I mean the fee. The payment." He held up the check. "Why are you doing this?"

Purple Man shrugged as a grin slowly formed on his face. "You may use your imagination as to why, sir. Any answer you make up may be more interesting than the reality."

"Of course, sir."

The man in purple walked toward the door, leaning on the cane as he slowly moved forward. The Candyman frowned. He was quite sure he had not seen a limp in the Purple Man earlier.

Suddenly, the Purple Man stepped forward, the cane remained behind and stood upright. The man simply leaned on air as he moved forward. Swiftly, he whirled around, grabbed the cane and held it out as if about to strike.

"A cane should always be used with great care, sir! An acquaintance of mine, name of Kringle, got in a bit of trouble in New York in 1947. Great big courtroom hoopla."

He threw the cane into his other hand. "Mark my words, sir!" Briefly, he leaned in as he raised a gloved finger. "Blue magic marker only, if you please." Head back up, he resumed his speech-making voice. "I only use a cane for absolute essentials: walking. Pointing. And gesturing as I sing or talk."

Here, he twirled the cane a little as he quietly made this observation. "Moderation in cane use is important."

"The same thing applies to candy, sir."

"Yes, indeed, sir! Too much candy, and too much TV, results in a big behind with an IQ of three."

"Truly you are a poet, sir."

Softly, Purple Man mused aloud. "I do like some TV. 'Gilligan's Island.' And a good Western now and then."

"All good and fine, sir. Just remember: moderation."

Purple Man nodded then casually pointed the cane. "I could put you on TV, you know. I'd have to make you quite small, of course."

"I'm content where I am, sir."

"Very good!" When the Purple Man gave the Candy Man an intense gaze, there was a slight manic quality in his eyes. "Do you agree with me on responsible cane and candy use?"

"I do, sir. Very much."

"Excellent! We are in one accord then. Key of A minor flat, I should think." As his eyes darted here and there, the purple one rested the cane on his right clavicle. "What of my proposal, sir? Will you sing the song?"

With a gentle grin, the Candyman spread out his hands as he briefly bowed his head.

"It shall be done as you ask, sir."

"Excellent! Again. Outstanding!" He put a hand to his mouth as he gave this aside. "Don't be out standing too long in the rain." Both hands went up. "Change the world, have a golden day, keep a stiff upper lip, and keep on trucking. Unless, of course, all that becomes too uncomfortable for you."

Once again, he headed for the door. And once again, he quickly turned around.

"There are at least two other conditions."

"Ah-ha!"

Purple Man formed a smile, more like a smirk really. "You knew there would be some kind of catch, didn't you, my good man?" Rapping his cane on the floor a couple of times, he went on. "Condition number one: while you sing the song, you must freely dispense candy to the children."

"I see."

"Good! Then you are not blind." The purple one gestured sword-fighting with his cane. This "swordplay" lasted only a few seconds. Anyone else would have been alarmed or annoyed. The Candyman simply smiled.

"You will be compensated for the candy you give away. Above and beyond your singing fee."

"Most generous, sir. Most generous indeed. To me and the children."

"I believe the children are our future," the man said with a slight lift of his chin. "Teach them well and let them lead the way."

"Quite so, sir."

Purple Man glanced around absently. "After the song, you can go back to taking money for candy from each child. No matter how poor the child might be."

With a solemn look, the Candyman nodded.

"It's one of the more disagreeable part of my business, sir. Very poor children walk in, and I'd like to help them all, and sometimes I do, but-" He offered a twitching smile as he shrugged. "If I helped them all the time, I couldn't stay in business."

Purple Man held up a gloved finger. "I may be able to help you there. But first, back to the business of you singing while dispensing candy. You will be filmed."

That raised some eyebrows, mainly those of the Candyman.

"Won't a camera crew be very disruptive, sir?"

"No indeed, sir. I have a crew of little people. You'll hardly notice them. Afterwards, for your edification, they'd be happy to sing songs about little life lessons for you."

With a thoughtful look, the Candyman nodded.

"I'd appreciate that, sir. Money is no good without wisdom."

"Truer words were never spoken." He made a face. "Although I haven't heard every word ever spoken so I can only guess. And can truth be quantified?"

The Candyman had learned not to answer rhetorical questions, especially where money was concerned.

The cane went back to the right clavicle.

"In any case, sir, you may use your copy of the film as a commercial. Or a home movie. Or to audition for a musical. As you wish."

"Such options, sir!"

"You will also share in profits of my own candy enterprise."

The Candyman's eyes were moist as he smiled.

"I hardly know what to say, sir. I haven't experienced such grace, sir, since-" He thrust out a Wonka candy bar. "Free sample?"

"No, thank you. I have quite enough of my own."

"Of course, sir."

The gloved finger went up again.

"There is at least one other matter we must attend to. One day, and that day may never come, I may call on you for a favor." He turned to the door, stopped, pivoted back. "Oh, wait! The time for that favor is now."

"Now, sir?"

"This is my final condition, sir! Which you must agree is better than a fatal condition or a final destination, sir!"

"I should think so, sir."

With a mysterious look, the Man In Purple produced a shiny gold sheet of foil. Leaning in, he whispered in the Candyman's ear. Afterwards, he pulled back. As he leaned on his cane with both hands, he gave the Candyman an inquiring look. When he spoke, all mirth and whimsy was gone from his voice.

"Do you find what I'm asking you to do to be unethical, sir?"

The Candyman's chin tightened as he shook his head, and he kept his voice quiet and low.

"No, sir. Not at all. When you offer these golden tickets of yours, no doubt some rich people will buy up thousands of your chocolate bars to gain an unfair advantage. It's only fair to arrange for a poor boy like Charlie to get one."

The Candyman took the gold foil and tucked it inside his apron pocket.

"I'm happy to help in this way, sir."

A moment later, he pulled his hand back out. There was another Wonka bar. He pulled back part of the wrapper to reveal the gold foil inside.

"I was also trained as a magician, sir. Taught the art of sleight of hand."

"I am aware of that."

"Of course you are, sir." The Candyman smiled and nodded. "Again, I'm happy to help in this way. Help you and Charlie."

"I'm very pleased to hear you say that." As he adjusted his hat with both hands, the unusual fellow let the cane stand upright on its own. "Don't forget what happened to the man who got everything he wanted."

"What's that, sir?"

"He lived happily ever after."

With cane in hand, the man once again started to leave. But then he stopped to take note of a sign near the door. The sign featured a picture of a man in a purple hat, not unlike himself. Underneath the purple-hatted portrait was a quote.

"Invention is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation and 2% butterscotch ripple."

Purple Man tapped the sign with his cane.

"An interesting bit of decoration, sir. And an interesting observation."

"I'm a big fan, sir."

Purple Man glanced up as he held up two gloved hands.

"I do hope it doesn't rain. Purple and rain don't go together so well."

"I'm sure it will be fine, sir."

"I'm sure you're right."

There was one final adjustment of the hat with the cane hanging on the right forearm.

"I must be going," he said. "So little to do, so much time." Sporting that mysterious and mischievous smile once again, the Man In Purple waved his right index finger. "Scratch that, reverse it."

The bell rang once again as the door closed. As it did, the Candyman offered a quiet farewell.

"Good day, Mr. Wonka."

Out on a busy street, Mr. Willy Wonka located one of those grates. You know, the kind that rain water flows into. He attached a silver coin to the bottom of the metal on that grate. The gum that held the coin in place was a special kind of gum, designed to dissolve at just the right time.

Willy Wonka left very little to chance.

Now, where was his employee who would play the part of his rival competitor Slugsworth?