I've been thumbing through the letters of Gertrude Bell and came across this splendid entry...
"The following preposterous conversation has just occurred:
G.B. loq: Oh! Fattuh, to whom does this poplar garden belong? F.--To a priest, my lady. G.B.--Doesn't he mind our camping in it? F.--He didn't say anything. G.B.--Did you ask him? F.--No, my lady. G.B.--We must give him some backshish. F.--At your Excellency's command. A pause. F.--My lady. G.B.--Yes? F.--That priest is dead. G.B.--!!! Then I don't think we need bother about the backshish. F.--No, my lady.
The trouble is they don't use speech for the same purpose in the East as we do in the West."