Buster was sitting at his desk staring at a blank piece of paper. Then he wrote down a few words.
“Rats!” he muttered. “That’s no good, either.” He crumpled up the paper and threw it on the floor.
“Hi, Buster!” said Arthur, from the doorway. He had just come over to play.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Buster grumbled. “You probably finished your homework already.”
“The one where we’re supposed to discuss some problem facing the world today.” Buster scratched his ears. “What do I know about the world’s problems? I have enough trouble remembering what day it is.
Arthur looked at the mess on the floor. “Why are you crumpling the papers?” he asked.
“Oh,” said Buster, “that’s what writers do when they don’t like what they’ve written.”
“But it’s a big waste,” said Arthur. “You shouldn’t treat paper like trash. You should recycle it. Recycling turns your old paper into new paper.”
Buster looked surprised. “Even after I’ve written on it?”
Arthur nodded. “The writing goes away when they make the new paper. That’s why somebody else can use it again.”
Buster looked at the small mountain of crumpled paper beside him. “If I uncrumple these, could they still be recycled?”
“Absolutely. Wrinkles don’t count. And the more paper we recycle, the more trees we save.”
“Okay, okay,” said Buster. “I’m convinced. I mean, I like trees, too.” He groaned. “But I still have to think of the right idea to write about.”
“Don’t worry,” said Arthur, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”