"Thank you," Marsten said. "Max, will you hand each of these gentlemen one of these cards and a pencil." I took the cards and pencils from his table and handed them out.
"Now," Marsten said, "one by one, you will go, in any sequence you desire, into that other room and lock the door. I will be locked in this room that you checked. A bell in the room you are in will ring. That will be the signal for you to leave the room and for someone else to go in.
"During the time each of you is in that room, please keep your minds open, receptive for a thought impression you will receive from me. That's all there is to the experiment. Excepting this—" he lifted a sealed envelope from the table. "This contains proof which will verify the success of this experiment. I leave it here. You will, as a committee, lock it in the safe upstairs in the business office. Take it from the safe only after the experiment is over."
So the experiment started. I sat over by the wall, watching their faces. I observed the way each man, in his own highly personalized way, got up and played his part in an experiment which he believed to be ridiculous.
I remember how each of them looked and acted as they, one by one, went into that room, locked the door, and came out later when the bell rang. I studied closely their faces as each came out. They went in embarrassed silence back to their chairs and sat down, each holding a card upon which they had written the thought supposedly received from Marsten.
I felt the terrific tension. The room seemed hot and stifling as Marsten came out of his room finally and went over to the table. His face was pale and moist. His hair was wet and stringy around his ears and over his forehead.
The ticking of the clock suddenly sounded louder and louder. The breathing of the nine men seated there got louder. I could hear my own heart going like a turbine in my chest. Now we waited for Marsten to speak.
He glanced at me, motioned to me. I got up and went over to the table. His eyes were dark and bright. "Collect the cards will you please, Max, and give them to me?"
I did that. I didn't want to give them to him. I had a crazy idea of running out of there with the cards. Then it would be my fault that Marsten had failed. I didn't believe in Marsten then. I wanted to. I'd worked with him, knew his greatness, his integrity and sincerity. I knew he might be emotionally unstable. I wanted to believe, but I wasn't convinced at all. Man is ever credulous in the wrong place, at the wrong time, about the wrong things. We swallow the emotional screamings of demagogues, reject the quiet discoveries of great men who only do not know the techniques of salesmanship, of propaganda.
But I put the cards on the table beside Marsten. Then, as he picked them up I began to feel differently. I don't know why. Perhaps his bravery, his courage and tenacity, his faith in his own beliefs, overwhelmed me suddenly.