And I’ll bet it has a lovely view of the unicorn stables.

Dear Word Detective: In a recent conversation, a friend was discussing a confrontation at work where an individual was “bearded in their den.” I’ve always been fascinated by that phrase, which I think in its original form is “to beard the lion in his den.” Can you shed any light on the origin of the phrase? Also, for the record, I have a beard, but I don’t have a den. The real estate agent said it was a “hearth room.” — Chris Schultz, Kansas City.

A “hearth room”? Did you get a few hogsheads of mead with the house? How deep is your moat? I love real estate agents. These are the creative geniuses who decided that the venerable term “dead end street” was depressing timid home buyers and picked “cul de sac” (French for “bottom of the bag”) as a substitute. I guess Jean-Paul Sartre had sort of ruined the alternative, “No Exit.” Meanwhile, back when people were still buying houses, there used to be a real estate showcase on the local TV station here every Sunday. We watched it purely for the surreal narration, in which a tiny, gloomy parlor became a “great room,” eight-foot ceilings “soared,” and a birdbath and a plastic wading pool routinely counted as “professional landscaping.”

“To beard the lion in his den” is a phrase dating back to the first Book of Samuel in the Bible, which tells the story of David, a shepherd who pursued a lion that had stolen one of his sheep. Long story short, David bravely seized the lion “by his beard” (chin whiskers) and slew him. The “in his den” detail most likely came from another Bible story, that of Daniel cast into a lions’ den and saved by an angel. Put together, “to beard the lion in his den” was an established idiom by Roman times meaning “to confront a dangerous opponent directly; to defy or challenge an adversary on his own ground,” with at least some degree of success. Today the phrase is often shortened to “beard someone in his own den” or just “to beard” with reference to a non-den locale (“Shall that English silkworm presume to beard me in my father’s house?”, Sir Walter Scott, 1820).

Although we usually encounter “beard” as a noun, it’s also been used as a verb since the 15th century, originally in the obvious, but now strangely obsolete, sense of “to grow a beard” (“Lewis, King of Hungary … was said … to have bearded at fifteen,” 1672). “To beard” meaning “to resolutely defy or oppose” has been commonly used in English since the early 16th century, often with no reference to lions. Part of this use of “to beard” reflects the use of the noun “beard” to mean “face” since the 14th century in such phrases as “to say something to an opponent’s beard,” meaning directly to his face. But it’s also true that for much of human history wearing a beard was considered a bad idea in combat situations because it gave an opponent something to hang on to in a fight. This is supposedly why, for instance, the Roman army forbade facial hair.

So “to beard” someone, especially in their “lair” or “den,” means to confront them as directly as possible, and, of course, to win the fight. A person who tries to beard someone and fails is known simply as “the loser.” Just keep in mind that the laws in many jurisdictions take a dim view of actually pulling on your coworker’s beard.

And take your damn Eagles albums with you.

Dear Word Detective: I am listening to P.G. Wodehouse and he uses the phrase “parting brass rags.” I looked it up and found a lot of references to the British Navy, but I always suspect attributions to this source. What say you? — Andrea McCollough.

That’s a great question. It’s got a mysterious phrase, the British Navy, and, best of all, P.G. Wodehouse. A trifecta of cool. Incidentally, your declaration “I am listening to P.G. Wodehouse” startled me at first, until I remembered that he died not all that long ago, in 1975, and no doubt left many audio recordings behind, though I don’t think I’ve ever heard his voice. I do have a recording of S.J. Perelman reading some of his stories, and he doesn’t sound at all like I had imagined. Then again, neither do I. And I have no idea who that guy in the mirror is.

OK, onward. “To part brass rags” means “to part after a quarrel; to sever all connection with a former friend.” Sir Pelham Grenville Wodehouse, perhaps the most prolific, certainly one of the most stylistically talented, and arguably the funniest of 20th century English writers, apparently used the phrase “part brass rags” in several of his stories. In fact, Wodehouse is probably largely responsible for popularizing and preserving the phrase.

You’ll find brief explanations of the origin of “part brass rags” in a number of reference works, but the research and explanation I found that rings true and does the best job of fleshing out the context of the phrase comes from the British lexicographer Michael Quinion at his excellent World Wide Words website (www.worldwidewords.org).

According to Quinion’s explanation, “to part brass rags” originated in the British Royal Navy in the 19th century. Enlisted men spent an inordinate amount of their time afloat cleaning the ship itself, especially polishing the numerous brass fittings, using a kit including polishing rags, emery paper and the like, all kept in a bag. It was traditional for sailors to do such duty in pairs, and along with a bag of cleaning tools and rags, you shared with your mate a bond of friendship that often lasted years.

If, however, the friendship was ruptured by a serious argument and your differences were deemed irreconcilable, each man would find a new cleaning companion, and the shared bag of brass cleaning rags, etc., would be divided between the former friends. Thus “to part brass rags” came to mean “to part bitterly from a once valued friend.”

As Michael Quinion himself notes, this story reeks of the sort of folk-etymology fairy dust that one finds all over the internet in labored and absurd efforts to trace nearly every interesting word or phrase in English to the Royal Navy, so you are richly justified in your skepticism. But Quinion cites two early 20th century sources that back up this origin, and I trust his professional judgment. This seems to be one of those rare cases where a nifty phrase really did come from the Royal Navy.