All the way up in the elevator the two visitors watched the white-suited boy curiously and when they alighted in the large, sun-flooded room at the top of the factory they were still speculating as to his age and how much he earned, and marveling that so young a representative should have been selected to explain to them the candy industry. The room they entered was high and airy and at the further end of it, moving amid steam that rose from a score of copper kettles, a great many men in spotless white were hurrying about. "It is here that we start our candy making," said the boy who was showing Bob about. "Into those copper kettles we put our mixture of confectioners' sugar--confectioners' A, we call it--and corn syrup; this combination forms the basis of almost every variety of candy made. The kettles, as you will see, are heated by gas, which gives a steady flame, and at the side of each one we have a thermometer by which we can tell the exact temperature of the mixture. There is also a glass disc set in the side of every kettle to enable us to watch the boiling. The sugar and corn syrup are melted together and cooked at the temperature which after repeated experiments has proved the most successful for our purpose--one that will neither burn nor stick, or make the cooled fondant too thin to keep its shape." The boy spoke in the slow, measured tones of one who had told the tale many times before and was quite accustomed to his task. Bob glanced at Van. Their respect for the lad was rising. "How much does one of these kettles hold?" Bob asked. "About six hundred pounds." "And you fill all of them every day?" demanded Van in astonishment. "Several times over," was the answer. "It takes a lot of this ground material for the different kinds; some of it has other ingredients mixed with it later, and some is beaten, flavored, and colored for the fillings of chocolates." "But who on earth eats so much candy?" ejaculated Bob. "I don't know," responded the boy wearily. "I'm sure I don't." "What?" "I don't believe I'd touch a piece of candy for a hundred dollars," he continued. "I am sick of the sight of it. Candy from morning to night--candy, candy, candy! Candy everywhere! Nothing but candy." Bob and Van eyed him unbelievingly. Could a boy be human and feel that way? "Everybody here gets into the same state of mind," the lad went on. "When the green hands come they are crazy about the stuff for about a couple of days; then it is all over. You couldn't hire them to eat. Every few weeks the different employees are allowed to buy two pounds for themselves at the wholesale price, but you would be surprised to see how few of them do it. If they get it you can be pretty certain that it is to give away, for they'd never eat it themselves." His two listeners stared incredulously. Their guide led them across the room.