Weak as he was, he struggled with them, broke their hold, and ran a few paces after the carriage.
Then he dropped, exhausted, to the pavement.
They overtook him and raised him up between them.
He looked at them pleadingly.
"You think I am crazy, I know. But let me explain. I know that girl in the carriage. I came to Chicago to find her, and now, she has escaped me!" he groaned.
"What! you know the beautiful Miss Fitzgerald, of Prairie avenue?" exclaimed Ralph Washburn, in surprise.
"That is not her name!" cried Hawthorne.
"Oh, yes, it is Miss Fitzgerald, certainly. You have made a mistake," returned the young author, who had seen Mrs. Fitzgerald often, and had read in the society newspapers that her lovely daughter, Miss Fitzgerald, who had been educated abroad, had just been called home by her father's death.
But to make assurance doubly sure, he ran up to the photographer's studio to inquire. They assured him that their late sitters were Mrs. and Miss Fitzgerald.
Hawthorne was so unnerved by the discovery of his mistake that a cab had to be called to take him home.