Nor did things mend when he went to Harvard.  Neither his mother’s abilities nor his choice were able to secure for him an entree to the society which Cambridge and Boston dole out stintedly to certain privileged collegians.  Every Friday afternoon he went home, to return by an early train Monday morning.  In his first year it is to be questioned if he exchanged ten words with women whose names were known to him, except during these home-visits.  That this could long continue, was impossible.  In his second year he was several times taken by his chum, Watts D’Alloi, to call.  But always with one result.  Invariably Peter would be found talking to Mamma, or, better still, from his point of view, with Pater-familias, while Watts chatted with the presumptive attractions.  Watts laughed at him always.  Laughed still more when one of these calls resulted in a note, “requesting the pleasure” of Mr. Peter Stirling’s company to dinner.  It was Watts who dictated the acceptance, helped Peter put the finishing touches to his toilet, and eventually landed him safely in Mrs. Purdie’s parlor.  His description to the boys that night of what followed is worthy of quotation: 

“The old fellow shook hands with Mrs. P., O.K.  Something was said about the weather, and then Mrs. P. said, ’I’ll introduce you to the lady you are to take down, Mr. Stirling, but I shan’t let you talk to her before dinner.  Look about you and take your choice of whom you would like to meet?’ Chum gave one agonized look round the room.  There wasn’t a woman over twenty-five in sight!  And what do you think the wily old fox said?  Call him simple!  Not by a circumstance!  A society beau couldn’t have done it better.  Can’t guess?  Well, he said, ’I’d like to talk to you, Mrs. Purdie.’  Fact!  Of course she took it as a compliment, and was as pleased as could be.  Well, I don’t know how on earth he ever got through his introduction or how he ever reached the dining-room, for my inamorata was so pretty that I thought of nothing till we were seated, and the host took her attention for a moment.  Then I looked across at chum, who was directly opposite, to see how he was getting on.  Oh, you fellows would have died to see it!  There he sat, looking straight out into vacancy, so plainly laboring for something to say that I nearly exploded.  Twice he opened his lips to speak, and each time closed them again.  The girl of course looked surprised, but she caught my eye, and entered into the joke, and we both waited for developments.  Then she suddenly said to him, ‘Now let’s talk about something else.’  It was too much for me.  I nearly choked.  I don’t know what followed.  Miss Jevons turned and asked me something.  But when I looked again, I could see the perspiration standing on Peter’s forehead, while the conversation went by jerks and starts as if it was riding over a ploughed field.  Miss Callender, whom he took in, told me afterwards that she had never had a harder evening’s work in her life.  Nothing but ‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ to be got from him.  She wouldn’t believe what I said of the old fellow.”