The coast-guard looked neither to one side nor the other, but ran on at the pace of one who had run far and knows that he cannot afford to lose his breath; for his night's work was only begun.
The coast-guard station stands on the left-hand side of the street, a long, low house in a bare garden.

In answer to the loud summons, a red-faced little man opened the door and let out into the night a smell of bloaters and tea--the smell that pervades all Farlingford at six o'clock in the evening.
"Something on the Inner Curlo Bank," shouted the coast-guard in his face, and turning on his heel, he ran with the same slow, organised haste, leaving the red-faced man finishing a mouthful on the mat.
The next place of call was at River Andrew's, the little low cottage with rounded corners, below the church.
"Come out o' that," said the coast-guard, with a contemptuous glance of snow-rimmed eyes at River Andrew's comfortable tea-table.

"Ring yer bell.

Something on the Inner Curlo Bank." River Andrew had never hurried in his life, and like all his fellows, he looked upon coast-guards as amateurs mindful, as all amateurs are, of their clothes.
"A'm now going," he answered, rising laboriously from his chair.
The coast-guard glanced at his feet clad in the bright green carpet-slippers, dear to seafaring men.

Then he turned to the side of the mantelpiece and took the church keys from the nail.