"Why, the University at d'Land, of course."
"Would that be the Technical College?"
Miss Furkle's mouth puckered. "I'm sure I've never pried into these details."
"Where does doing your job stop and prying begin, Miss Furkle?" Retief said. "Personally, I'm curious as to just what it is these students are travelling so far to study—at Corps expense."
"Mr. Magnan never—"
"For the present. Miss Furkle, Mr. Magnan is vacationing. That leaves me with the question of two thousand young male students headed for a world with no classrooms for them ... a world in need of tractors. But the tractors are on their way to Croanie, a world under obligation to Boge. And Croanie holds a mortgage on the best grape acreage on Lovenbroy."
"Well!" Miss Furkle snapped, small eyes glaring under unplucked brows. "I hope you're not questioning Mr. Magnan's wisdom!"
"About Mr. Magnan's wisdom there can be no question," Retief said. "But never mind. I'd like you to look up an item for me. How many tractors will Croanie be getting under the MEDDLE program?"
"Why, that's entirely MEDDLE business," Miss Furkle said. "Mr. Magnan always—"
"I'm sure he did. Let me know about the tractors as soon as you can."