They were big men in heart as well as reputation. But Marsten had done some remarkable work in experimental psychology in the past and I guess no one, outside of myself, wanted to see him regain his professional respect and reputation as much as did those men: De Vaca, Professor of English Literature; H. Morrison, Professor of Biology; M. Borinsky, Professor of History and specialist in the History of Russia; Billingsley, Professor of Theosophy; Marian Adler, Psychology Professor who happened to have the same surname as Freud's disciple, and there were others.
They had all agreed to Marsten's request to be a part of his final experiment to prove the existence of mental telepathy.
"I'll prove mental telepathy tonight so they'll have to believe it," Marsten said softly. "And think what that will mean. New fields of research will open the gates to human freedom and escape from man's sad mental limitations. It will bring official, legalized scientific research into the mind that will end the ills of mankind!" He leaned forward and gripped my wrist. His forehead was wet. His voice was hoarse. "It'll work tonight, Max!"
"And if it doesn't?" I asked.
He sat back, shook his head. "It will," he said. "I know because I've proven it to myself. But—but if it doesn't—" He shrugged. "I'm through. It will be the end of the road for me."
The way he said it, more than the words, frightened me. I knew how intense he was, how much his work meant to him. And when he spoke like that I knew—I feared—that Marsten had become emotionally unbalanced.
"That's ridiculous," I said. "You can go ahead with your work, regardless. Some of the greatest scientific advances have been made against the popular grain. In fact, most scientific work! Remember Galileo, Newton...."
He shrugged. "Matter of temperament. I know my own limitations, my weaknesses. But I know this experiment tonight will work! Listen, Max—I don't care about publicity. I've invited no reporters. I want only these scientists to know, that's all. They're the ones who have to be convinced. To give the field of parapsychology respectability so that the vast resources and brains of science can be turned loose on it, that's all I want."
He looked at me intense, earnest. "Max," he whispered, "the rumors that are circulating about me—I've heard about them. They think I'm unbalanced mentally! You've heard that?"
I was embarrassed. I had heard. Everyone had. I said, "You're respected as an honest and scholarly man, a genius in the field of psychology. These men, if they speculate at all along that line, think you've deluded yourself by the 'will to believe' in your own experiments. Wishful thinking, some call it. I don't believe anyone thinks your capabilities in normal psychological work have diminished. If anything, they're probably stronger."