The Clockmaker explains the Clerk's peculiar problem to the Clown. The Clown seems less interested in the Clerk's problem than his own. Having collected a massive bouquet of wild flowers on the long walk from the town, sneezing more and more the closer he reached the field, he has no place to put them after death.Suppose you live, says the Clockmaker.
Then I can hold them, answers the Clown, sniffling. But if I die, he says after loud sneeze, they'll all fall with me and scatter and wilt.
The Clockmaker sees no use in explaining that the Clown's flowers will wilt regardless. Even if he did, it would be between a series of ever-narrowing periods of silence before sneezes. They both arm themselves and take to the field. The clown holds his flowers in one hand, pistol in the other. He sneezes.
They raise their guns, their guns go off.
