It reminded me in some strange way of the imitation sea scenes at the theater, where a great cloth of some sort is rocked and lifted to represent the waves.

Only one lung was congested in the beginning, but, later, the thing extended to each, and the air-cells began filling, and the man suffered more and more.

He fought against it fiercely.
"Grant," said the doctor, after the administration of some strong stimulant, "help us all you can.

Cough! Force the air through those huge lungs of yours, and see if you can't tear away that tissue which is forming to throttle you!" And Grant would summon all his strength, by no means yet exhausted, and exert his will, and cough, despite the fearful pain of it; but the human form held not the machinery to dislodge that growing web which was filling the lung-chambers and cutting off, hour by hour, the oxygen which makes pure blood and makes the being.
And the man who laughed at things grew weaker and weaker, and, though he laughed still and was his old self and made us happy for a brief interval, when he had not the fever and was clear-headed, and said that it was nothing and that he would throw it off, we knew that there was deadly peril.

And one evening, when Grant was again delirious, the doctor came to me and said there was very little hope..