The Wabbit got smaller and smaller and found himself in a strange
place which appeared to be under the floor. "It's grubby down here," grumbled the
Wabbit. The Wabbit grumbled if he didn’t understand things and he was apt to complain
bitterly and at length to himself – because usually there was no one else nearby to listen to
his complaints. He looked all around anyway and he couldn't help but notice a large box which, on inspection, was fairly recognisable. "It’s an old computer," said the Wabbit with distaste. He looked at it disparagingly because he knew that it was incapable of supporting one of his
lists far less a sophisticated program like ListWrite Lite. "The lost data must be in there," he thought, "otherwise I wouldn’t be here." The
Wabbit paused to agree with himself, which
he very often did. But when he agreed with himself, his ears would tilt back and then suddenly forward in a manner that some found disturbing. So the Wabbit tried not to
agree with himself too much in public. "I suppose I’ll have to examine the
interior," thought the Wabbit, "and see if there’s any lost data lying around." The Wabbit fished around in his fur for a crosshead screwdriver that he had bought cheaply in a market near the Big White Hospital and poked the side of the computer. In the Wabbit's head there lurked an entertaining idea that he would find a compartment clearly marked Lost Data, just inside the casing. He would then quickly unbolt it and make off. "If only life could be like that," thought the Wabbit and he patiently set to work.
