"They have double merit. Charity breeds charity."
"This is a rare fellow," thought Maimon. "How Lapidoth would delight in him! And he speaks truth. I know nothing of the country. If I travel a little with him I may learn much. And he, too, may learn from me. He has a good headpiece, and I may be able to instil into him more seemly notions of duty and virtue. Besides, what else can I do?" So, spinning his thaler in air, "Done!" he cried.
The beggar caught it neatly. "Herr Landlord," said he, "another glass of your excellent whisky!" And, raising it to his lips when it came, "Brother, here's to our partnership."
"What, none for me?" cried Maimon, crestfallen.
"Not till you had begged for it," chuckled the Schnorrer. "You have had your first lesson. Herr Landlord, yet another glass of your excellent whisky!"
And so the philosopher, whose brain was always twisting and turning the universe and taking it to pieces, started wandering about Germany with the beggar whose thoughts were bounded by his paunch. They exploited but a small area, and with smaller success than either had anticipated. Though now and then they were flush, there was never a regular meal; and too often they had to make shift with mouldly bread and water, and to lie on stale straw, and even on the bare earth.
"You don't curse enough," the beggar often protested.
"But why should one curse a man who refuses one's request?" the philosopher would persist. "Besides, he is embittered thereby, and only the more likely to refuse."
"Cork your philosophy, curse you!" the beggar would cry. "How often am I to explain to you that cursing terrifies people."
"Not at all," Maimon would mutter, terrified.