mly by in the early November dusk.
Between him and the dead fullback there had been such companionship as
comes now and then to an instructor under thirty and a man nearing the
end of his college course. When Diemann, just home from Germany, came
West to teach Psychology, he found young Blake the college hero. The new
instructor had himself been a noted back; he still hovered somewhere
between enthusiast and fiend. At Stanford he at once identified himself
with the football men, and they welcomed him gladly as assistant coach.
During that first season, two years ago, he had come to know and like
Fred Blake. Later, the fullback took Diemann's course in Psychology, and
to the elder man's gratification, developed a passion for the subject.
The instructor recognized the quality of the athlete's mind, and before
long the two were working together, reading and discussing along the
line of the teacher's special interest.

Coming home from the sober materialism of Leipzig, Diemann had realized
more fully than ever how thoroughly the interest in matters occult had
pervaded the mind of his native country. To this department of
Psychology he turned with an admitted interest in things unseen and a
confidence in the restraint of his University training. He felt that he
stood barely upon the threshold of the subject, held back by material
prejudice and the conservatism of little faith; yet his enthusiasm grew
daily. He weighed the evidence of phenomena with an impartiality that
other people pronounced belief. The attitude of those about him was for
the most part unsympathetic. Some to whom he had made furtive
confidences called him "spooky," a spiritualist; but he was merely an
investigator, trying to be fair. It was an alluring study; perhaps he
ran the risk of over-enthusiasm--he had known people who had
spiritualized the palpably material--but he was guarding against this
danger; it would take an exceptional impulse ever to get him to that
point.

It might be that some such temptation was coming to him now. He had just
seen his friend pass into perfect knowledge. Blake had said something to
him at the last that still ran in his ears, above the rumble of the
train. "I will come back, if there is anything in it all."

Diemann, peering out into the deepening gloom toward the bay shore
faintly white in the luminous mist, thought over this last interview of
theirs; he was finding it hard to realize that their friendship had
ended.