'Trent, auntie—Gerald Trent.'
'Of Boston?'
'Of Boston; yes. Why, Aunt Ann?'
'I—I fear, then, that there is sorrow in store for thy young friend. Gerald Trent is missing.'
'Missing?'
The Quakeress held the paper toward me, I being nearest her, and pointing with a finger to some headlines half-way down the page, said:
'Perhaps thee would better read it.'
I took the paper and read aloud these lines:
'"Another World's Fair Mystery.—Gerald Trent among the Missing.
'"Another Young Man swallowed up by the Maelstrom.