I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading to his accident. He couldn’t have cared less, so long as he could pass and punt. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right when he stood or walked, the back of his hand was at right angles to his body, his thumb parallel to his thigh. When it healed, and Jem’s fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.
