阅览：父亲缝扣子

　　It must have been hard work to keep up with the mending in our house. Four boys had to be kept in repair besides Father， and there was no special person to do it. The baby’s nurse did some sewing， and Cousin Julie turned to and did a lot when she was around， but the rest of it kept Mother busy and her work-basket was always piled high.
　　Looking back， I wonder now how she managed it. I remember her regularly going off to her room and sewing on something， right after dinner or at other idle moments， when she might have sat around with the rest of us. My impression as a boy was that this was like going off to do puzzles—it was a form of amusement， or a woman’s way of passing the time.

　　There was more talk about Father’s socks and shirts than anything else. Most of this talk was by Father， who didn’t like things to disappear for long periods， and who wanted them brought promptly back and put in his bureau（書桌）drawer where they belonged. This was particularly true of his favourite socks. Not the plain white ones which he wore in the evening， because they were all alike， but the coloured socks that were supplied to him by an English haberdasher（男人服饰经销商）in Paris.

　　These coloured socks were the one outlet（发泄口）of something in Father which ran contrary to that religion of propriety（得当）to which he adhered（坚持）. In that day of sombre（昏暗的）hues（色彩）for men’s suits and quiet tones for men’s neckties， most socks were as dark and severe as the rest of one’s garments（服装）； but Father’s， hidden from the public eye by his trousers and his high buttoned shoes， had a really astonishing range both of colour and fancy. They were mostly in excellent taste， but in a distinctly French way， and Wilhelmine used to tease him about them. She called them his “secret joys.”

　　Father got holes in his socks even oftener than we boys did in our stockings. He had long athletic（好动的）toes， and when he lay stretched out on his sofa reading and smoking， or absorbed in talking to anyone， these toes would begin stretching and wiggling（扭来扭去） in a curious way by themselves， as though they were seizing on this chance to live a life of their own. I often stared in fascination at their leisurely twistings and turnings， when I should have been listening to Father’s instructions about far different matters. Soon one and then the other slipper would fall off， always to Father’s surprise， but without interrupting his talk， and a little later his busy great toe would peer out at me through a new hole in his sock.

Mother felt that it was a woman’s duty to mend things and sew， but she hated it. She rather liked to embroider（在？？上刺绣）silk lambrequins（装修用的垂帷）， as a feat of womanly prowess（勇敢）， but her darning（补缀）of Father’s socks was an impatient and not-too-skilful performance. She said there were so many of them that they made the back of her neck ache.

　　Father’s heavily starched（上过浆的）shirts， too， were a problem. When he put one on， he pulled it down over his head， and thrust（伸出）his arms blindly out right and left in a hunt for the sleeves. A new shirt was strong enough to survive these strains without splitting， but life with Father rapidly weakened it， and the first thing he knew he would hear it beginning to tear. That disgusted him. He hated any evidence of weakness， either in people or things. In his wrath（狂怒）he would strike out harder than ever as he felt around for the sleeve. Then would come a sharp crackling noise as the shirt ripped（撕破）open， and a loud wail（哀号）from Mother.

 
　　Buttons were Father’s worst trial（检测，苦难）， however， from his point of view. Ripped shirts and socks with holes in them could still be worn， but drawers（長内裤）with their buttons off couldn’t. The speed with which he dressed seemed to discourage his buttons and make them desert Father’s service. Furthermore， they always gave out（坠落）suddenly and at the wrong moment.

阅览：父亲缝扣子

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