The Big Top run by Mr Circus was not doing very well. Receipts were down and towns were becoming reluctant to book him. He had to find a new act to revive his fortunes.
He put an advert in Variety magazine, sat back and waited.
After sitting through several days of hum-drum acts, a mild-mannered man pulling a small hand cart with the name 'Mr Hammer' emblazoned on its side was shown in.
"I am Mr Hammer!" the sleight man announced. "What's your act then?" asked Mr Circus.
Opening the lid of his cart, Mr Hammer proudly said, "I invite you to select any hammer from my collection."
Mr Circus looked inside at the array of different hammers; from toffee hammer to sledgehammer. He chose a weighty mallet.
"Aaah, a fine specimen," said Mr Hammer. "One of my favourites. Now kindly strike me on the forehead with it, as hard as you please."
"What!? Are you mad? I shall do no such a thing!" said the startled Mr Circus.
"Do not worry, Sir, as I am a professional and have done this many, many times," assured the small performer.
Somewhat reluctantly, Mr Circus drew back the mallet and twatted Mr Hammer right between the eyes.
He went out like a light and fell backwards to the floor.
"Oh shit! What have I done!!?" panicked the Big Top owner, and he called his wife.
"Oh shit! What have you done!!? she shrieked when she saw the crumpled heap that was the previously fine auditioner.
"He said it was his act! He told me to hit him on the head with this and I did and he just fell down and and and ..." Mr Circus babbled.
"You have to call the police. And an ambulance," Mrs Circus said in a moment of clarity. Mr Circus hesitated but complied.
Whilst the unconscious Mr Hammer was speedily taken to the nearest hospital, the police interviewed Mr Circus. After a few hours they appeared satisfied with his account of the events and left, warning that should things turn for the worse in A & E, then they would be back.
The distraught Mr Circus told his wife that they had to cancel that night's show as he had to go to the bedside of Mr Hammer, to see if he was making any recovery. Reluctantly she agreed with his idea. He drove off in panic.
When he found the Intensive Care Unit that had the frail body of Mr Hammer hooked up to it, he plopped his sad bulk on the uncomfortable plastic chair by its side and waited. All he could understand from the myriad of tubes, wires and machines was the one that gave a faint, slow 'bip...............bip..............bip.'
"At least he's still alive," thought Mr Circus and began his vigil.
The next day, his wife phoned him to ask of any improvement. "Nope.Still the same 'bip...............bip..............bip.'
She phoned the next day, and the next, only to be treated with the same response.
After two weeks, Mrs Circus advised her husband that she was taking the circus on without him as they were running out of money and she had to perform with what they had left. He sadly let her go, saying he felt duty-bound to stay at the bedside of the comatose Mr Hammer, whose life-sustaining machinery continued its morbid 'bip...............bip..............bip.'
After a month, Mrs Circus sternly told him he would have to leave the hospital and join her as the failing circus was pulling no crowds and acts were leaving, due to not being paid. He told her that he couldn't leave the bedside of this poor man he had so nearly killed.
"Very well, suit yourself!" she shouted through the telephone at him.
A week later, a nurse handed over an envelope addressed to him. It was from his wife. She had sold the remaining assets of the Circus and had run off with the Strong Man, (whom she had secretly fancied for a while.)
"Oh no! Now this!" wailed Mr Circus. "I have lost my business, my wife and I have put this poor man in a coma from which it seems he may never recover. I sit here day after day and all I ever hear is 'bip...............bip..............bip.'
This went on for a few months, during which, old friends of Mr Circus occasionally stopped by, bringing him sandwiches and changes of underwear but always being unable to deter him from staying at the bedside of the recipient of his mallet-wielding exploit.
Six more weeks passed. It was around seven in the morning one Wednesday when Mr Circus' troubled doze was disturbed by something he hadn't previously heard; a 'bip-bip.............bip-bip............bip-bip.'
He sat bolt upright in his chair, thinking he must be dreaming. But no, there it was. A definite 'bip-bip.............bip-bip............bip-bip.'
He scrambled over to the red pull-chord that dangled over Mr Hammer's otherwise lifeless carcass and yanked it so hard it left the plastic housing in the ceiling.
A nurse ran in. "Look, look!!" shouted Mr Circus, excitedly pointing to the bank of monitors.
"My Heavens!," exclaimed the nurse and called for the doctor. As they waited, the noise from the monitor became stronger and more frequent, 'Bip-Bip...Bip-Bip...Bip-Bip!' Each tone rising with intensity.
A crowd of medical staff bustled around the bed whilst the noise from the machines reached a fever pitch. 'BIP-BIP BIP-BIP BIP-BIP'
There was a slight twitching of the bedclothes, everyone held their breath as the previously inert body of Mr Hammer snapped up into a sitting position, spread his arms out wide and with a huge grin went, "Ta daaaaaaa!"
