Fable
Not every letter needs the fastest horse
The Northern Post station had three kinds of horses. The black horse was fastest and very expensive per run; the gray horse was steady with medium speed; the little yellow horse was cheap and suitable for short distances. In the past, to appear reliable, the post station sent black horses for every letter.
At first, everyone was satisfied. Urgent letters were fast, ordinary letters were fast too, and even the corner shop's bills were fast. At the end of the month, when the accounts were calculated, the post station was losing badly. The stationmaster wanted to raise prices, but the merchants were unwilling; he wanted to deliver less, but feared delaying urgent matters. The old postman said, the problem is not that the black horse is bad, it is that you treat all letters as military orders.
Once, a liquor shop’s promotional flyer also used the black horse, and it happened to squeeze out an urgent military report. The urgent report arrived half a day late, and only then did the stationmaster realize that “always use the strongest” can also harm what truly matters.
The post station began sorting letters. Military orders and time-limited contracts went by black horse; ordinary commercial credit by grey horse; low-risk notices and recurring bills by small yellow horse. In bad weather, when the grey horses were unreliable, they switched temporarily to black horses; when all black horses were out, non-urgent letters queued.
They also recorded the results of each type of letter: which type was often undervalued, which type wasted money, and which type needed an upgrade in a certain season.
The stationmaster first ruled that all long letters use the black horse and short letters use the small yellow horse. But some short letters were sealed with wax and marked "emergency," while some long letters were just shop accounts. Sorting by length saved a few horses but delayed truly urgent matters.
The old post rider later added three questions at the gate: is it urgent, is it far, can it afford to be wrong. Ordinary bills went by the little yellow horse, interstate contracts by the gray horse, and only disaster and military orders were sent by the black horse. No horse was always best; the key was that each letter was routed to the right legs as soon as it entered the station. The post station also kept a reassignment gate. If the little yellow horse found an urgent stamp added to the envelope before setting out, it switched to the gray horse at once; if the gray horse hit a blizzard on the way, it could hand off to the black horse. Dispatch was not a matter of face; it was about making every letter affordable to send, able to arrive, and caught by someone when it could not afford to be wrong.
A few weeks later, the post station had not become slower—it had become steadier. The most important letters were still fast, and ordinary letters no longer wasted money. The stationmaster understood that being smart is not about always using the strongest horse, but about knowing when that expense is worth it.