He showed up Every Saturday and Sunday at 6:00 AM, burnt eggs and bacon onto the pans, and greeted us as we came into the kitchen, waving away the floating blue smoke in the air.
His name was "Algernon", but my father insisted that we called him "Sir".
After breakfast, he did the dishes, then spent the afternoons in the cellar drinking beer and bourbon with my dad, and arguing about politics and cards.
The last time I saw him, he was ejected out of one of the basement windows, which still impresses me.