The speaker looked at his watch.
"Pas' eleven," he said. "Da' 's good luck w'en she start to fall befo' midnight. Oh-h-h! Mais she is one great coquette, yas. She keep you crazy until she get tired wid you, an' den she slip away an' steal her beauty-sleep befo' de clock strike twelve."
"You t'ink she is going to sleep now? Maybe she fool us yet, Adolphe."
"Well, maybe. Mais I have great hope. She begin to nod, and w'en dat happen to a woman or a riv—"
Conversation was suddenly interrupted here by a great crash. The two men started, and, turning, saw an entire section of the improvised embankment fall landward.
Had the stress of the moment been less, they would involuntarily have hastened to the spot, but terror fixed them where they stood. There was but a moment of suspense,—of almost despair,—but it seemed an eternity, before relief came in a great shout which sent vibrations of joy far along the bank, even to those who watched and worked on the right bank of the stream.
It had been only a "dry break." The weights thrown in upon the cotton had been out of plumb, and had pitched the whole structure inward.
The uproar following this accident was long and loud, and had not subsided when the bell rang again, and, with tense nerves strained to listen, the line of men dropped speech. Instead of calling out the decreasing depth, as usual, the crier this time shouted:
"Two inches down, thank God!"
Screams of joy, not unmixed with tears, greeted this announcement. The strain was virtually over.