It's perfectly stupid.
I despise the same thing when I see it in Boston people." Fulkerson pulled first one of his blond whiskers and then the other, and twisted the end of each into a point, which he left to untwine itself.
He fixed March with his little eyes, which had a curious innocence in their cunning, and tapped the desk immediately in front of him.

"What I like about you is that you're broad in your sympathies.

The first time I saw you, that night on the Quebec boat, I said to myself: 'There's a man I want to know.

There's a human being.' I was a little afraid of Mrs.March and the children, but I felt at home with you--thoroughly domesticated--before I passed a word with you; and when you spoke first, and opened up with a joke over that fellow's tableful of light literature and Indian moccasins and birch-bark toy canoes and stereoscopic views, I knew that we were brothers-spiritual twins.

I recognized the Western style of fun, and I thought, when you said you were from Boston, that it was some of the same.