He was in an execrable humour.

When Magnus had broached the subject of business, he had declared that all business could go to pot, and when Osterman, his tongue in his cheek, had permitted himself a most distant allusion to a feemale girl, Annixter had cursed him for a "busy-face" so vociferously and tersely, that even Osterman was cowed.
"Well," insinuated Osterman, "what are you dallying 'round 'Frisco so much for ?" "Cat fur, to make kitten-breeches," retorted Annixter with oracular vagueness.
Two weeks before this time, Annixter had come up to the city and had gone at once to a certain hotel on Bush Street, behind the First National Bank, that he knew was kept by a family connection of the Trees.

In his conjecture that Hilma and her parents would stop here, he was right.

Their names were on the register.

Ignoring custom, Annixter marched straight up to their rooms, and before he was well aware of it, was "eating crow" before old man Tree.
Hilma and her mother were out at the time.