The Sun

KILLED FOR BAD TASTE.

It Is Not Well for a Little Dog to Sneer at a Police Sergeant's Trousers.

Yesterday morning being bright, clear, and summery, Police Sergeant William J. McCoy of the West Forty-seventh street station house appeared on Eighth avenue with a new pair of summer trousers. These trousers were attractive. As he turned into Forty-seventh street he spied the dog known as "Wiener Wurst." This dog's life is limited to six years, and its home is confined to the West Forty-seventh street station house post. At the moment the Sergeant spied Wiener Wurst, Wurst spied the Sergeant. He looked long on the new trousers, and then turned and ran yelping toward the house. Sergeant McCoy followed at leisure. Wiener Wurst ran to the door of the station house, and, finding it shut, he squatted in the middle of the street and began to howl. Every step the Sergeant was marked by howl from Wiener Wurst. Sergeant McCoy went into the station house, shut the door behind him, and sat down by the window. Wiener Wurst yelped anew. The Sergeant stood it for ten minutes. Then he weighed the question of letting Wiener Wurst howl at every new pair of trousers down the vista of the future and of dooming him to death. The scale of mercy kicked the beam. Policeman Purcell oiled up his pistol, went outside, and shot Wiener Wurst dead. Wiener Wurst was a good dog, and was bred by Sergeant Herlihy of the Leonard street station. The public were told that the dog died mad.