But the great event of the afternoon is the reception of opening prices from the New York Stock Exchange. In comparison with these, the Paris quotations that arrive about noon are uninteresting, and the American Market grows into a surging crowd between three o'clock and a quarter-past. It is often remarked upon as singular that no official prices are sent over from Wall Street; the arbitrage firms who deal between London and New York alone know the prices cabled across, but by their offering or bidding for shares it is obvious whether Wall Street opens in good humour or bad. By rapid degrees the American fluctuations become generally circulated; the market seems to be full of the little pink slips that come flying in at the hands of boys and clerks stationed in a line that stretches from the offices of the cable companies outside the House to the very heart of the Yankee Market in the Stock Exchange. Again the telephone and telegraph come into requisition, and the House usually finishes up, unless there is really nothing doing, in a state of more or less mild excitement. For one thing the markets are decidedly crowded, everyone making a solemn point of being in at the close, and for another, the brokers are engaged in a tour of the various departments to make finally certain that they have overlooked no order on their books which could be done, and to hear reports from the jobbers in regard to limits that have been left during the earlier part of the day. At four o'clock, at a signal from the main door of the Kaffir Circus, a number of the waiters stand up with a loud shout of "Close!" and the Stock Exchange doors are then open for exit only. Under no consideration can a member or clerk re-enter when once the stentorian "Close" has rung through the markets, and the cry is caught up by the small fry in the street, who are waiting with their masters' hats and umbrellas; so that the whole neighbourhood of Throgmorton Street knows when four o'clock has come.