English Original
Seventy-three-year-old George McNeilon selected his food in Value Mart more carefully than NASA chose its candidates for the space shuttle. Leaving the cashier, he estimated he had saved eighty cents. He was pleased.
At the exit, the chilly wind reminded him of his gloves. They were not in his pockets or grocery bag. He clearly remembered putting them in his coat pocket. A thorough search confirmed they were lost inside the store.
Old George had bought the black gloves on sale ten years ago for $35. They were genuine lamb skin, soft, warm, and durable—far better than the cheaper pairs he used to buy. His impulsive purchase had even boosted his social status, drawing envious stares on the bus. He cared for them meticulously, so they looked new. Losing them felt like losing a child.
Bad luck, he thought, to lose them on New Year's Eve.
George, calm outside but frantic inside, re-entered the store. He retraced his steps through the bread section, dairy aisle, and the salt and sugar aisle. His anxious search was in vain. Anything black would have been easily spotted against the white bags, but his gloves were gone.
He ran through other aisles and checked with the cashier. Nothing.
"Society has changed," he murmured. "Years ago, people returned lost items. Not anymore!"
He didn't give up. This time, he scanned other shoppers' hands and baskets, staring at anyone with black gloves. A glimmer of hope appeared when he saw a woman wearing similar dark gloves, but hers were too small. He considered asking a well-dressed man wearing black gloves but decided against it, reasoning a thief wouldn't wear them openly. He then tried to spot bulging pockets but soon gave up, admitting, "I am no detective."
Dejected, he inquired at the cashier and the manager's office. Both answers were disappointing. "Such expensive gloves, who would give them up?" He finally waddled out.
It was freezing, perhaps zero degrees Fahrenheit. Without gloves, he shrank his hands into his sleeves. On his short walk home, he shivered so violently a kind bus driver stopped to offer a ride. Too cold to speak, George could only gesture a trembling refusal.
At home, he was at a loss. He needed gloves. Buying cheap ones meant soon replacing them; a new leather pair would cost fifty dollars. He was upset that people no longer returned found items.
After the holiday, poor George decided to buy another pair. Before boarding the subway, he stepped into Value Mart one last time to check the lost and found. "What colour?" the woman asked. "Black," he said. She looked in a drawer and pulled out a pair of men's leather gloves. "Are they...?"
"Yes! Those are mine!" George exclaimed, his eyes glowing with joy.
中文翻译
七十三岁的乔治·麦克内隆在超值超市挑选食物时，比美国宇航局挑选航天飞机候选人还要仔细。离开收银台时，他估算自己省下了八十美分，心中很是满意。
在出口处，刺骨的寒风让他想起了自己的手套。手套不在他的口袋或购物袋里。他清楚地记得把它们放进了外套口袋。一番彻底搜寻后，他确认手套丢在了店里。
这双黑色手套是老乔治十年前打折时花35美元买的。它们是真正的羔羊皮，柔软、温暖且耐用——远比他以前买的便宜货好。这次冲动的购买甚至提升了他的社会地位，在公交车上引来羡慕的目光。他精心保养，手套看起来仍像新的。丢失它们，感觉就像失去了一个孩子。
真倒霉，他想，竟在新年前夜丢了这双昂贵的手套。
乔治外表平静，内心却慌乱不已，他大步重新走进商店。他沿着原路返回，穿过面包区、乳制品通道以及盐和糖所在的通道。焦急的寻找一无所获。在白袋子的衬托下，任何黑色的东西都该很容易被发现，但他的手套不见了。
他跑遍了其他通道，也询问了收银员。一无所获。
“社会变了，”他喃喃自语。“多年前，人们会归还失物。现在不了！”
他没有放弃。这次，他扫视其他购物者的手和篮子，盯着任何戴黑手套的人。当他看到一位女士戴着类似的深色手套时，心中闪过一丝希望，但她的手套太小了。他考虑过询问一位戴着黑手套、衣着体面的男士，但转念一想又放弃了，认为小偷不会公然戴着它们。接着他又试图寻找鼓鼓囊囊的口袋，但很快放弃了，承认道：“我不是侦探。”
他沮丧地向收银员和经理办公室询问。两次都得到了令人失望的回答。“这么贵的手套，谁会交出来呢？”他终于蹒跚着走了出去。
天气严寒，大约零华氏度。没有手套，他把手缩进袖子里。在回家的短短路上，他冷得剧烈发抖，一位好心的公交车司机特意停车让他上车。乔治冻得说不出话，只能颤抖地摆手拒绝。
回到家，他不知所措。他需要手套。买便宜的意味着很快要换新的；买新的皮手套现在要五十美元。他对人们不再归还拾到物品感到非常沮丧。
假期过后，可怜的乔治决定再买一双。在上地铁前，他最后一次走进超值超市，去失物招领处看看。“什么颜色？”那里的女士问。“黑色，”他说。她看了看抽屉，拿出一双男式皮手套。“是这些吗……？”
“是的！那是我的！”乔治喊道，眼中闪烁着喜悦的光芒。