It wasn’t difficult for the Wabbit to crash the event. With a paw over the date, he flashed his ancient press card and hopped across
the beach. "I’ll never get the sand out of my fur," he grumbled.
Worse was to come. Amidst much attention, Lapinette was modelling a strange
garment. "It’s a fur coat," muttered the Wabbit with astonishment.
The Wabbit knew several things. He knew Lapinette already had perfectly good
fur. His fur could feel the beach was baking hot. And the campaign against
the fur trade was dear to their hearts. He glanced up at a familiar
sound to see Susan the Biplane trailing a fashion banner. The Wabbit flinched
in the sun's glare. "I really am in the dark." So the
Wabbit ignored the temperature, watched Lapinette strut the runway and had
a think. He examined all the options. "Lapinette is up to something,"
he murmured, "and I’m going to get to the bottom of it." He was
gripped by a flash of inspiration. "I have it!” thought the Wabbit.
"Now what’s that thing models do – smize?” He fluttered his eyes and
although he felt foolish, loped gracefully forward himself, raising his paws
higher than was strictly necessary. "I can model my own fur and get on the
inside," he grinned. "Then I won’t be in the
dark." He heard a polite clapping. "Fur whom the bell tolls," he
grinned.