As for Philammon's going out with him to earn his bread, he would not hear of it.

Did he suppose that he could meet any of those monkish rascals in the street, without being knocked down and carried off by main force?
And besides there was a sort of impiety in allowing so hopeful a student to neglect the 'Divine Ineffable' in order to supply the base necessities of the teeth.

So he should pay no rent for his lodgings--positively none; and as for eatables--why, he must himself work a little harder in order to cater for both.

Had not all his neighbours their litters of children to provide for, while he, thanks to the immortals, had been far too wise to burden the earth with animals who would add to the ugliness of their father the Tartarean hue of their mother?
And after all, Philammon could pay him back when he became a great sophist, and made money, as of course he would some day or other; and in the meantime, something might turn up--things were always turning up for those whom the gods favoured; and besides, he had fully ascertained that on the day on which he first met Philammon, the planets were favourable, the Mercury being in something or other, he forgot what, with Helios, which portended for Philammon, in his opinion, a similar career with that of the glorious and devout Emperor Julian.
Philammon winced somewhat at the hint; which seemed to have an ugly verisimilitude in it: but still, philosophy he must learn, and bread he must eat; so he submitted.
But one evening, a few days after he had been admitted as Theon's pupil, he found, much to his astonishment, lying on the table in his garret, an undeniable glittering gold piece.

He took it down to the porter the next morning, and begged him to discover the owner of the lost coin, and return it duly.