He wound up by being a convert of the professor.

Then came the great day. The night of the announcement we had a
long discussion. It was a deep question. For all of my faith in
the professor I was hardly prepared for a thing like this. Strange
to say I was the sceptic; and stranger still, it was Hobart who
took the side of the doctor.

"Why not?" he said. "It merely comes down to this: you grant that
a thing is possible and then you deny the possibility of a proof--
outside of your abstract. That's good paradox, Harry; but almighty
poor logic. If it is so it certainly can be proven. There's not
one reason in the world why we can't have something concrete. The
professor is right. I am with him. He's the only professor in all
the ages."

Well, it turned out as it did. It was a terrible blow to us all.
Most of the world took it as a great murder or an equally great
case of abduction. There were but few, even in the university, who
embraced the side of the doctor. It was a case of villainy, of a
couple of remarkably clever rogues and a trusting scholar.

But there was one whose faith was not diminished. He had been one
of the last to come under the influence of the doctor. He was
practical and concrete, and not at all attuned to philosophy; he
had not the training for deep dry thinking. He would not recede
one whit. One day I caught him sitting down with his head between
his hands. I touched him on the shoulder.