He shook hands warmly with Mitchell. "Good of you to ask me over, Steven."
Macklin threw a big arm across Ferris' shoulders. "How have you been, Harold?"
Ferris' face flickered between pink and white. "Fine, thank you, doctor."
Macklin dropped on the edge of the desk and adjusted his pipe. "Now what's this about you wanting my help on something? And please keep the explanation simple. Biology isn't my field, you know."
Mitchell moved around the desk casually. "Actually, Doctor, we haven't the right to ask this of a man of your importance. There may be an element of risk."
The mathematician clamped onto his pipe and showed his teeth. "Now you have me intrigued. What is it all about?"
"Doctor, we understand you have severe headaches," Mitchell said.
Macklin nodded. "That's right, Steven. Migraine."
"That must be terrible," Ferris said. "All your fine reputation and lavish salary can't be much consolation when that ripping, tearing agony begins, can it?"
"No, Harold, it isn't," Macklin admitted. "What does your project have to do with my headaches?"