The Wabbit and Lapinette spilled off the skateboard and onto the stairs in the ethnographic museum. They were roughly half a kilometre from their original position. The Wabbit glanced at the clocks. It was the same time as they left. The Wabbit winced as the whirling skateboard hit him on the back and sent him flying. Oil sprayed from the wheels and lay glistening on the marble stairs. He wiped some from his fur. "A bit liberal in your application I'd say, Wabbit." "Radical!" responded the Wabbit. Lapinette picked herself up. She glanced up the steps. "Are you sure this is the right dimension?" The Wabbit glanced up too. "Well, the Three in One got us home at exactly the right time." Lapinette smoothed her frock. "The right time - where?" The Wabbit looked downstairs this time. "I can see Skratch and Wabsworth coming." "That's reassuring," murmured Lapinette. "We'd better get this oil off the stairs," said the Wabbit, "or people will fall on their fundaments." He took a bottle of 'oil-away' from his fur and sprayed it around. He flipped the skateboard and tucked it under his elbow. "It needs more work," he declaimed. "I suggest a rigorous overhaul then hold it under lock and key." Lapinette was adamant and stood with her paws on her hips. The Wabbit turned. "Did you film any of this?" Lapinette shook her head. "Sick," moaned the Wabbit.
