By Freeman J. Wong

Seventy-three-year-old George McNeilon selected his food in Value Mart more carefully than NASA chose its candidates for the space shuttle. Skim milk was $2. 99, on sale from $3. 49; white bread, 89 cents with a 10-cent discount; table salt, 99 cents, 20 cents off the regular price. Leaving the cashier, he estimated that he had saved 80 cents today. He was pleased that he had got good value for his money again.

At the exit, the chilly wind reminded him of his gloves. "Now where are they?" Not in the coat pockets. Not in the pants pockets. Not in the grocery bag either. He was sure he was wearing them when he entered the store. He clearly remembered thrusting them into the pocket of his coat. The worried man made a second thorough search of all his pockets, again including the grocery bag. Now he was sure they must have been dropped somewhere inside the store.

Old George had bought the black gloves at a 25% discount, for just $35. 00, ten years ago. They were genuine lamb skin, soft and warm and very durable. Until then, he had worn cheaper man-made material that never lasted longer than three years. His impulsive decision to buy the expensive gloves turned out to be a good one, which even promoted his social status on the bus, as poorer passengers stared at him enviously for six months out of the year. He had taken care not to let a drop of water or rain touch his expensive gloves, so they looked like new. Losing this favourite possession was almost like losing a child to him.

Bad luck, he thought, to lose his expensive gloves on New Year's Eve.

George, calm on the outside but frantic on the inside, re-entered the store with long steps. He followed the same route he had walked before, starting at the bread counter, to the dairy section, the aisle where salt and sugar were placed, then the rest of the store. They were all open aisles and it did not take long to be convinced that the gloves were not in sight. After checking the forty-foot-long bread section, he quickened his pace through the two-hundred-foot aisle leading to the dairy products. There he even turned over egg boxes to see if the gloves had fallen in between. Several minutes of anxious searching turned out to be in vain. His heart grew heavier and he started to sweat as he entered aisle six. The salt and sugar were packed in white bags, and anything black could be spotted easily. No. His black gloves were gone. His sharp eyes could not have missed them.

He ran through all the other aisles, then all the way to the cashier, but there was nothing.

"Society has changed, people have changed, he murmured to himself. "Years ago, if somebody picked up something lost, they would give it back. Not any more!"

Yet he did not give up. He started from the bread section again. This time he focused on the baskets and gloves in other shoppers' hands. He would stare at anybody wearing black gloves to see if they looked like his. The first two ladies he met were gloveless. The third person he saw was a man who did wear gloves, but they were working gloves covered with paint stains. On his way to the dairy section, there was a glimmer of hope: he noticed a lady fifteen feet away wearing a pair of gloves as dark and expensive as his. He sped up and in three seconds was in front of her. He even said "Hi!". But when the surprised lady returned his greetings, his eyes dropped to the floor again, for the fingers of her gloves were just far too small for him.

Steps further on, he encountered a man who looked like a lawyer or a doctor, who was definitely wearing a pair of black leather gloves, but wouldn't it be embarrassing to ask, "Are you wearing my gloves?" On second thought, George decided that anybody who wanted to keep his gloves wouldn't be so foolish as to wear them right inside the store. So he started to look at people's bulging pockets instead, but before long, he found bulging pockets were too hard to detect. Most of them were stuffed with scarves, books, hats and caps, not necessarily gloves. "I am no detective," he admitted to himself, and headed dejectedly towards the exit.

On his way out, he went over to the cashier to ask if she had received any lost gloves, but she said no. Then he went to the manager's office to make the same inquiry. She asked him what colour they were, and when he said "black", there came another disappointing answer. Such a pair of expensive gloves, who would give them up? He took his time now, finally waddling out of the store.

It was freezing cold, perhaps zero degrees Fahrenheit. Without his warm gloves, he had to shrink his hands into his sleeves. It was only a seven-minute walk home, and when he was one house before his own door, he shivered so badly that a bus driver passing by made a special stop and offered to let him get on. Old George was too cold to say anything, and could only raise his trembling hand to make a gesture of thanks and refusal.

Back home, George was at a loss. In deep winter, he could not do without a pair of gloves. If he bought cheap ones again, he would have to replace them very soon. If he bought a new leather pair, they would cost fifty dollars now. He was very upset that people no longer returned things they found on the road.

After the holiday, poor George decided to buy another leather pair. Before boarding the subway, he stepped into Value Mart again to see if by any chance his gloves had been returned to the lost and found office. "What colour are they?" the woman in the office asked again. "Black," he gave the same answer. She looked into her drawer and drew out a pair of men's leather gloves. "Are they??"

"Yes! Those are mine!" George exclaimed, his eyes glowing with joy.

手套

七十三岁的乔治?麦克尼朗在特价市场精挑细选着各种食品，其小心程度比美国国家航空和航天局为航天飞机挑选飞行员有过之而无不及。脱脂奶 2．99美元，原价是3．49美元；白面包89美分，优惠10美分；精制食盐99美分，比正常价格便宜 20美分。交完钱出来，他算了算今天共节省了80美分。他很高兴又一次捡了便宜。

在门口，刺骨的寒风让他想起了他的手套。“到底在哪里呢?”不在大衣口袋里，裤子口袋里没有，装东西的袋子里也没有。进商店的时候肯定是戴着的，他还清楚地记得把手套塞进了大衣口袋。他焦急地又把所有口袋彻底搜了一遍，购物袋也不例外。现在他确信手套一定是落在商店里面了。

这副黑手套是老乔治10年前以75折的优惠，花了35美元买到的，材料是真正的绵羊皮，不仅柔软暖和，而且经久耐用。在此之前，他曾戴过价格更便宜的人造革手套，最多用不过 3年就破了。他一时冲动花大本钱买了这副手套，没想到还真不错，就连坐公共汽车时也觉得高人一等，因为一年中有6个月的时间会有条件比他更差的人在车上羡慕地盯着他看。他对这副昂贵的手套关怀备至，从不让它们沾一滴水或一滴雨，所以一直看起来都像新的。对他来说，丢了这么心爱的东西不啻于把自己的孩子给弄丢了。 真倒霉，他想，除夕丢了那么贵重的手套。

乔治表面上很平静，内心却跟疯了似的，他几步就回到商店，按原来走过的路又走了一遍，从面包柜台，到奶制品区，再到放盐和糖的通道以及商店的其他地方。商店里都是敞开式通道，很快他就确定手套不在这些地方。检查完40英尺长的面包区，他又赶快穿过20英尺长通向奶制品区的通道。他甚至把那里的鸡蛋箱移过来移过去看是否手套掉在夹缝里。他焦急地搜索了几分钟，结果一无所获。他的心情越来越沉重，进入第六通道时他已经开始流汗了。盐和糖是用白袋子装着的，只要是黑色的东西都会很容易看见。完了，他的黑手套真不见了。他敏锐的目光不可能错过手套。 他把其它通道都跑遍了，然后一直找到收款台，可是仍然没找到。

“社会变了，人变了，”他喃喃自语道，“前些年，只要有人捡到东西，他们都会还回来。现在的人再也没有那么好啦!”

但是他还是没有放弃，他又从面包区开始寻找。这次他把注意力放在别人拎的筐和戴的手套上。看到戴黑手套的，他就会盯着看是否跟他的一样。首先碰到的两位女士都没戴手套。他看见的第三个人是个男人，而且的确戴着手套，但它们是工作手套，上面沾有油漆。在去奶制品区的路上，似乎出现了一线希望：在15英尺远的地方，他发现一位女士戴着一副跟他那副一样的黑色且昂贵的手套。他加快脚步，不出3秒钟就来到了她面前。他甚至说了声“嗨!”。但是当那位吃惊的女士回应他的致意时，他的眼光又落到了地板上，因为她的手套的手指对他来说实在是太小了。

再往前走，他碰到了一位律师或者医生模样的人。那人肯定是戴着一副黑色皮手套，但是要问人家“你是否戴着我的手套?”是不是有点令人难堪?转念一想，乔治觉得真想把他的手套据为已有的人不会傻到在商店里就戴着它们。所以他又开始看人们鼓出的口袋，但过了没多久，他就发现鼓出的口袋里究竟装着什么很难弄清楚。大多数口袋里都塞着围巾、书、帽子之类的东西，不一定是手套。“我可不是个侦探，”他自己承认道，然后垂头丧气地向出口走去。

出来的时候，他跑到收银员那里问是否有捡到的手套，但她说没有。然后他又跑到经理办公室去打听。她问了他是什么颜色的，当他说出“黑色”时，回答再一次使他失望。这么贵的一副手套，谁会愿意交出来呢?这时他倒不慌不忙起来，最后摇摇晃晃地出了商店。

天冷得很，也许到了华氏零度。没有了暖和的手套，他不得不把手缩到袖子里。回家只需走7分钟，离家门口还有一幢房子时，他颤抖得非常厉害， 以至一位过路的公共汽车司机特意停下来，主动让他上车。老乔治冷得说不出一句话，只好举起颤抖的手示意，谢绝他的好意。

回到家里，乔治变得六神无主。寒冬季节，他不能没有手套。如果再买副便宜的，他很快又得换新的。如果买一副新的皮手套，现在要花50美元了。他对人们不再拾金不昧很恼火。

过完节，可怜的乔治决定再买一副皮手套。上地铁之前，他又来到特价市场看看，是否有人已经把他的手套送到了失物招领处。“是什么颜色的?”失物招领处的女士又问了一句。“黑色的。”他像原来一样答道。她朝抽屉里看了一眼，然后拿出一副男式皮手套。“这副是???”

“是的!正是我的!”乔治激动地说，眼里洋溢着喜悦。