to sit at home and grumble would some day right the evil.

Yes, the nation was excited, but Senator Dilworthy was calm--what was
left of him after the explosion of the shell. Calm, and up and doing.
What did he do first? What would you do first, after you had tomahawked
your mother at the breakfast table for putting too much sugar in your
coffee? You would "ask for a suspension of public opinion." That is
what Senator Dilworthy did. It is the custom. He got the usual amount
of suspension. Far and wide he was called a thief, a briber, a promoter
of steamship subsidies, railway swindles, robberies of the government in
all possible forms and fashions. Newspapers and everybody else called
him a pious hypocrite, a sleek, oily fraud, a reptile who manipulated
temperance movements, prayer meetings, Sunday schools, public charities,
missionary enterprises, all for his private benefit. And as these
charges were backed up by what seemed to be good and sufficient,
evidence, they were believed with national unanimity.

Then Mr. Dilworthy made another move. He moved instantly to Washington
and "demanded an investigation." Even this could not pass without,
comment. Many papers used language to this effect:

"Senator Dilworthy's remains have demanded an investigation. This
sounds fine and bold and innocent; but when we reflect that they
demand it at the hands of the Senate of the United States, it simply
becomes matter for derision. One might as well set the gentlemen
detained in the public prisons to trying each other. This
investigation is likely to be like all other Senatorial
investigations--amusing but not useful. Query. Why does the Senate
still stick to this pompous word, 'Investigation?' One does not
blindfold one's self in order to investigate an object."