“The rabbit should not have appeared!” the pale artist interrupted, screaming at the manager. “I don’t understand the way the rabbit got into the box. There should not have been any kind of trick at all! Do you remember the script? I had to open the empty box without any animals at all, then clowns would run out into the arena and turn it into a farce!”
“Then whose evil joke is this? Maybe the tamer’s? But he works only with predators, so he can’t be responsible,” the manager said thoughtfully, walking away.
The conjuror took the rabbit by the ears and went into the dressing room. He examined the box carefully from every side more than once, but couldn’t find the slightest clue. Tired, he threw it into a corner, and looked at the rabbit. It was snow white, sitting on the table and basking under the lamp, and crunching on a third sweet carrot. At the same time, he was wiggling his ears with pleasure.