He led his guests further along the yellow corridor. No longer were the marked doors as much of a curiosity as before. None of the businessmen said anything about them; in fact, they didn't say anything at all, allowing Mr. Wonka to explain various things, from the history of the Oompa-loompas to the eating habits of a London squirrel. Finally, he stopped again, this time in front of a door marked PEPPERMINTS.
"This one is of particular interest to me," Willy Wonka said proudly. "Mainly because of its innovative genius." he gestured to Art. "I'm sure you will appreciate this." He inserted the key into the lock and pushed open the door.
Three curious pairs of eyes stared through the doorway.
Fifty curious pairs of eyes stared back, all of them belonging to Oompa-loompas.
Just as in the CARAMEL DIPPED CANDIES ROOM, there were mounds of machinery here as well. But instead of the solid paint of the other room, there was a red and white color scheme played out on the walls, floors, even on the machines. Peppermint-striped pipes curled and twisted between machines, and large peppermint-striped mixing barrels rolled to make an almost hypnotizing sight.
"It does look innovative," Art murmured to himself in awe. Mr. Wonka beamed.
"Told ya. All the candies manufactured in this room are peppermint flavored and peppermint striped...hard peppermints, peppermint gum, peppermint saltwater taffy, peppermint..."
"Pardon my interruption, Mr. Wonka," George cut in, "But perhaps you would like to create stock for your company. Innovations like this," he encompassed the room with a wave of his hand, "would surely have crowds of businessmen investing in your company." he attempted an assuring smile. "I may not look like it, Mr. Wonka, but I am a good judge of character...and from what I have seen so far, you are eccentric, but also a genius." he pulled a business card from the manila envelope and handed it to Wonka.
"My business card," he explained. "Take a while to consider my offer, and call me later."
The candymaker looked over both sides of the card and threw it away. An Oompa-loompa picked it up and shoved it in his own pocket.
George pretended not to have noticed.
"Mr. Wonka," he said, pointing to a particularly strange specimen of machine, "What does this do?"
Willy glanced at the machine and broke into a smile. "Why, that is the mixing barrel that makes the coloring for my peppermints!"
"Mixing barrel?" the others echoed.
"Yes, yes," Willy said, as if in impatience. "Don't you know that to get peppermint pattern, you have to mix red and white? There's no other way!"
"But Mr. Wonka," Bill said, "If you mix red and white, you get pink."
"Nonsense!" the candyman cried. "Watch." He slid back a metal panel on the side of the mixing barrel. Behind it was a glass window that let the men see what was inside. And, surely enough, there was a body of liquid that was peppermint-striped...there was no pink anywhere.
"See?" Mr. Wonka said.
"By Jove, he's right," Art said.
"Incredible," Bill said.
"Psh," George said. The businessman left the side of the mixing barrel to walk among the other machines. The smell of peppermint was lying heavily in the air, and suddenly he felt hungry. He glanced at his wristwatch, startled to see that it was already lunchtime.
"Well, no matter," he said to himself. "There's plenty of food here." He walked along until he came upon a human-sized table, upon which rested a number of small, circular peppermints. Surely Mr. Wonka wouldn't mind if I took just one, he thought to himself. He picked on up and popped it in his mouth.
"...and this is where we make candy canes for the Christmas season," Willy was explaining to Bill and Art. He hadn't noticed George wandering off, or pretended not to have noticed. But when a blood-curdling cry pierced the air, Willy froze, his face taking on an ashen pallor.
"George!" Bill and Art both said in unison.
"Come on, Mr. Wonka!" They took the candymaker by the cuff of his sleeves and rushed toward the source of the scream. It would have been difficult to navigate the maze of red and white machinery, had it not been for the black smoke curling up toward the ceiling. George Blackwell, it seemed, had burst into flames.
The three men arrived at the scene in time to witness a host of firefighting-loompas rushing into the room, large cans of compressed carbon dioxide on their backs. They sprayed the burning, screaming mass that was George, then stepped back as the flames ceased. Their task complete, they moved aside to make way for a team of EMTs, also Oompa-loompas, to roll the burn victim onto a low stretcher and cart him away.
"What happened to him?" Art asked quietly.
Mr. Wonka shook his head. "Undoubtedly, Mr. Blackwell discovered my experimental hot pepper mints. Unfortunately, I still have the mixture wrong; it's way too hot. So hot, it usually causes the consumer to spontaneously combust." he sighed. "I knew I should have put them in the INVENTING ROOM instead."
"Mr. Wonka..." Bill started to say, but he was drowned out as music started playing from nowhere and the Oompa-loompas broke out into another song.
George Blackwell, the man of stock
Has just been through a tragic shock
And he has learned a sacred rule
That he should have been taught in school.
Not to drift, not to wander,
Not to take, just to ponder,
Not to touch, not to taste
Not to move things from their place
Without permission from the boss,
Who knows the danger, knows the loss
That could result from candy ingested,
Because the product is yet untested.
Sadly now, we must admit,
That we played a small part in it.
But we thought the man a liar;
That's why we let him stay on fire,
And treated the dubious George Blackwell
To a little taste of his personal hell.