At the end of the first week I said to Joe, "Alonzo is bored, the society of half-hose does not interest him. Send him home."
He was sent, and my wardrobe settled itself peacefully.
On the following Monday I dipped into the collar drawer, went through the usual rites, and——No, it didn't really startle me. He had returned.
I put him in the sock drawer again.
Evidently he had plans of his own. One week at the laundry and one week at "Sunnyside," alternating, as it were, between taking the waters and a rest cure.
I began to respect Alonzo, but at the same time I felt he must be shown that there is such a thing as authority. I put him in a cardboard box, addressed it myself, posted it myself, and wrote to the manager myself. You think that settled him? You do not know Alonzo. He is made of sterner stuff than that.
At the end of the week he was back again, well and cheerful. Coming of a resourceful and determined race we tried other means—I forget how many—of outing him. Once the manager took him away in a taxi and once our Ann consigned him to the ash-pit.
It was no good. We had to give it up. We adopted him. As I write, Alonzo rests in his sock drawer, slightly fatigued but indomitable.