looked in the mirror his own face queried of him, "What profit?" and he
was compelled to make a decided effort to prevent his tongue uttering
the ever present thought.

But at noon he would meet the defaulting bank committee, "and doubtless
his lawful business would take its proper share of his thought!" He told
himself that it was the voice and face of his old friend that had
affected him so vividly, and that if he went and chatted over old times
with Willie, he would get rid of the disagreeable influence.

The influence, however, went with him into the creditors' committee
room. The embarrassed officials had dreaded greatly the interview. No
one hoped for more than bare justice from David Lockerby. "Clemency,
help, sympathy! You'll get blood out o' a stane first, gentlemen," said
the old cashier, with a dour, hopeless face.

And yet that morning David Lockerby amazed no one so much as himself.
He went to the meeting quite determined to have his own--only his
own--but something asked him, "_What shall it profit_?" and he gave up
his lawful increase and even offered help. He went determined to speak
his mind very plainly about mismanagement and the folly of having
losses; and something asked him, "_What shall it profit_?" and he gave
such sympathy with his help that the money came with a blessing in its
hand.

The feeling of satisfaction was so new to him that it embarrassed and
almost made him ashamed. He slipped ungraciously away from the thanks
that ought to have been pleasant, and found himself, almost
unconsciously, looking up Willie's name in the clerical directory, "Dr.
William Caird, 22 Moray place." David knew enough of Edinburgh to know