‘It’s changing!’ shouted Violet, chewing and grinning both at the same time. ‘The second course is coming up! It’s roast beef! It’s tender and juicy! Oh boy, what a flavour! The baked potato is marvellous, too! It’s got a crispy skin and it’s all filled with butter inside!’
‘But how in-teresting, Violet,’ said Mrs Beauregarde. ‘You are a clever girl.’
‘Keep chewing, baby!’ said Mr Beauregarde. ‘Keep right on chewing! This is a great day for the Beauregardes! Our little girl is the first person in the world to have a chewing-gum meal!’
Everybody was watching Violet Beauregarde as she stood there chewing this extraordinary gum. Little Charlie Bucket was staring at her absolutely spellbound, watching her huge rubbery lips as they pressed and unpressed with the chewing, and Grandpa Joe stood beside him, gaping at the girl. Mr Wonka was wringing his hands and saying, ‘No, no, no, no, no! It isn’t ready for eating! It isn’t right! You mustn’t do it!’
‘Blueberry pie and cream!’ shouted Violet. ‘Here it comes! Oh my, it’s perfect! It’s beautiful! It’s . . . it’s exactly as though I’m swallowing it! It’s as though I’m chewing and swallowing great big spoonfuls of the most marvellous blueberry pie in the world!’
‘Good heavens, girl!’ shrieked Mrs Beauregarde suddenly, staring at Violet, ‘what’s happening to your nose!’
‘Oh, be quiet, mother, and let me finish!’ said Violet.
‘It’s turning blue!’ screamed Mrs Beauregarde. ‘Your nose is turning blue as a blueberry!’
‘Your mother is right!’ shouted Mr Beauregarde. ‘Your whole nose has gone purple!’
‘What do you mean?’ said Violet, still chewing away.
‘Your cheeks!’ screamed Mrs Beauregarde. ‘They’re turning blue as well! So is your chin! Your whole face is turning blue!’
‘Spit that gum out at once!’ ordered Mr Beauregarde.
‘Mercy! Save us!’ yelled Mrs Beauregarde. ‘The girl’s going blue and purple all over! Even her hair is changing colour! Violet, you’re turning violet, Violet! What is happening to you?’
‘I told you I hadn’t got it quite right,’ sighed Mr Wonka, shaking his head sadly.
‘I’ll say you haven’t!’ cried Mrs Beauregarde. ‘Just look at the girl now!’
Everybody was staring at Violet. And what a terrible, peculiar sight she was! Her face and hands and legs and neck, in fact the skin all over her body, as well as her great big mop of curly hair, had turned a brilliant, purplish-blue, the colour of blueberry juice!
‘It always goes wrong when we come to the dessert,’ sighed Mr Wonka. ‘It’s the blueberry pie that does it. But I’ll get it right one day, you wait and see.’
‘Violet,’ screamed Mrs Beauregarde, ‘you’re swelling up!’
‘I feel sick,’ Violet said.
‘You’re swelling up!’ screamed Mrs Beauregarde again.
‘I feel most peculiar!’ gasped Violet.
‘I’m not surprised!’ said Mr Beauregarde.
‘Great heavens, girl!’ screeched Mrs Beauregarde. ‘You’re blowing up like a balloon!’
‘Like a blueberry,’ said Mr Wonka.
‘Call a doctor!’ shouted Mr Beauregarde.
‘Prick her with a pin!’ said one of the other fathers.
‘Save her!’ cried Mrs Beauregarde, wringing her hands.
But there was no saving her now. Her body was swelling up and changing shape at such a rate that within a minute it had turned into nothing less than an enormous round blue ball — a gigantic blueberry, in fact — and all that remained of Violet Beauregarde herself was a tiny pair of legs and a tiny pair of arms sticking out of the great round fruit and little head on top.
‘It always happens like that,’ sighed Mr Wonka. ‘I’ve tried it twenty times in the Testing Room on twenty Oompa-Loompas, and every one of them finished up as a blueberry. It’s most annoying. I just can’t understand it.’
‘But I don’t want a blueberry for a daughter!’ yelled Mrs Beauregarde. ‘Put her back to what she was this instant!’
Mr Wonka clicked his fingers, and ten Oompa-Loompas appeared immediately at his side.
‘Roll Miss Beauregarde into the boat,’ he said to them, ‘and take her along to the Juicing Room at once.’
‘The Juicing Room?’ cried Mrs Beauregarde. ‘What are they going to do to her there?’
‘Squeeze her,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘We’ve got to squeeze the juice out of her immediately. After that, we’ll just have to see how she comes out. But don’t worry, my dear Mrs Beauregarde. We’ll get her repaired if it’s the last thing we do. I am sorry about it all, I really am . . .’