‘Down the rubbish chute.’
‘By golly, she is going down the chute!’ said Mr Salt, staring through
the glass door at his daughter.
‘Then save her!’ cried Mrs Salt.
‘Too late,’ said Mr Wonka. ‘She’s gone!’
And indeed she had.
‘But where?’ shrieked Mrs Salt, flapping her arms. ‘What happens to
the bad nuts? Where does the chute go to?’
‘That particular chute,’ Mr Wonka told her, ‘runs directly into the great
big main rubbish pipe which carries away all the rubbish from every
part of the factory – all the floor sweepings and potato peelings and
rotten cabbages and fish heads and stuff like that.’
‘Who eats fish and cabbage and potatoes in this factory, I’d like to
know?’ said Mike Teavee.
‘I do, of course,’ answered Mr Wonka. ‘You don’t think I live on cacao
beans, do you?’
‘But... but... but...’ shrieked Mrs Salt, ‘where does the great big pipe
go to in the end?’
‘Why, to the furnace, of course,’ Mr Wonka said calmly. ‘To the
incinerator.’
Mrs Salt opened her huge red mouth and started to scream.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Mr Wonka, ‘there’s always a chance that they’ve
decided not to light it today.’
‘A chance!’ yelled Mrs Salt. ‘My darling Veruca! She’ll... she’ll... she’ll
be sizzled like a sausage!’