Solution Manual For John E. Freund's Mathematical Statistics With Applications 8/e Miller, Miller
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(b) = 4 + 4 + 3 + ... + 2 +1 = 32
n1 n2
1.4 n2 = n1n2 n3
i=1 j=1
2 Mathematical Statistics, 8E
10 10
1.6 (a) 10! 20
= (7.92665)(3.678797)10 = (7.92665)(454,002.49) = 3,598,719
e
3.6288 3.5987
% error = 100 = 0.83%
3.6288
12 12
12! 24 = (8.683215)(4.41455)12 = 475,683, 224
e
4.7800 4.7568
% error = 100 = 0.69%
4.7900
52 52
52 52! 104
= = e
(b) 13 13! 39! 13 13 39 39
26 78
e e
52 52 52
13 4 4
= = = 639 billion
19.5 13 13 3
13 39 39
19.5 339
2n 2n!
1.7 Using Stirling’s formula in = yields
2n
2n 2n
n n! n!
n 4n 2nn
n 2n = e
2 n
2 2 =1
2 n
e
r n+n 1 r 1 5 1 4
= and = =6
r n r n 5 3 2
1 1 3 5
1.19 (a) 2 2 2 2 15 ( 3)( 4)( 5)
and = 10
24 384 6
1 2 3
(b) 1 2 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 3 1
5 = 2 1+ = 2 1+ + +
4 2 4 2 2 4 2 2 2 4
1 1 3 512 + 64 8 + 3
= 2 1+ + =2
8 64 512 512
571
=2 = 2.23
512
1142
= 2.230
512
( 1)( 2)...( r)
1.20 (a) = ( 1)r
r!
8! 87654
1.21 = = 560
2! 3! 3! 2 6
9! 987654
1.22 23 32 ( 4)3 = 8 9 64 = 23, 224, 320 3!
2! 3! 12
1.24 Note: If there are 0 turn-ons the first night, 6 turn-ons in four nights can only occur if there are 2
turn-ons on each of the subsequent three nights. Thus, we need to show only that part of the tree
following this event.
1.25
1.27 (a) 5
(b) 4
1.28
1.29
15 14
1.35 = 105
21
5040
1.36 (a) 10 9 8 7 = 5040; (b) = 210
24
14 13 14 13 12
1.37 (a) = 91; (b) = 364
21 321
1.38 6! = 720
6! 720
1.39 = = 90
2! 2! 2! 8
1.41 7! = 5040
5!
1.42 (a) 5! = 120; (b) = 60
2!
10! 3628800 8! 40320
1.43 = = 50, 400 and = = 3360
3! 3! 2! 72 3! 2! 12
10! 3628800
1.44 = = 1, 260
5! 4! 120 24
8! 40320
1.45 = = 280
3! 4! 6 24
20 20
1.46 (a) = 77,520 ; (b) = 184, 755
7 10
20 20 20 20
(c) + + + = 1140 + 190 + 20 + 1 = 1351
17 18 19 20
7 4
1.47 (a) = 21; (b) = 6; (c) 3 4 = 12
2 2
3 7 3 7
1.48 + = 3 21+ 1 7 = 63 + 7 = 70
2 2 3 1
4 7 3
1.49 = 6 35 3 = 630
2 3 1
13 13 13 13
1.50 = 1287 286 286 78 = 8, 211,173, 256
5 3 3 2
7! 5040
1.51 = = 420
3! 2! 12
1.54 12 + 6 1 17 17
= = = 6,188
12 12 5
1.55 12 1 11
= = 462
6 6
1.56 14 + 3 1 16
= = 120
14 14
1.57 r 2n + n 1 r n 1
=
n 1 n 1
r n 1 10
= = 45
n 1 2
Illustrator: W. E. Terry
Language: English
He pushed his hulk up from the chair and walked toward the door.
"And don't bother about coming back to the office afterwards," I
admonished.
He paused, hand on the knob, and turned. Then his round face
lighted up. "Ah, Mr. Nelson!" he chuckled. "You make with the joke!"
"Sure." I smiled. "And now you go home and make with the knife."
That was the last time I saw Pasquamine. Except at the funeral, of
course. He made a lovely corpse—considering everything.
It was the day following the funeral when there came a gentle
tapping at my office door.
"Come in," I said, tossing the half-finished bottle of gin back into the
lower drawer.
They didn't bother about opening the door; they just crawled under
it. A moment later, they had slithered across the floor, had wiggled
their way up to the top on my desk, and had flattened out upon its
polished surface in complete pseudopod relaxation. Gyf and Gyl. My
two very good friends.
"Sorry, boys," I said, after we had exchanged the usual amenities,
"that I had to get rid of your symbiotics in such a messy fashion. But
business is business, you know; and I felt that the time was right...."
Gyf shrugged gelatinously. "I was getting tired of occupying Fidwell,
anyway," he vibrated. "Regular old pussyfoot. Never had no fun."
Gyl burped resoundingly in the middle. "I hope the next body I get
doesn't turn out to be another wine-guzzling, garlic eater." A tremor
ran through him. "It upsets me frightfully."
"Time and the rising tide of accidents will tell," I soothed.
"I'm cold," trembled Gyf, "since I ain't got no body to keep me
warm."
"You might try my secretary," I offered, playfully. "There's a body for
you!"
"You know I can't," he vibrated. "She ain't even dead yet!"
"Nearest thing to it," I commented, "this side of the precinct
morgue."
That brought a shake of mirth from Gyl who really has a truly
remarkable sense of humor.
Gyf, ignoring the levity, slid over to the little intercom box at one side
of the desk, crawled in through one of the slits, curled up, and
promptly went to sleep. It seems that Fidwell, along with his other
faults, had also been a sufferer of insomnia.
"I suppose," I said to Gyl, conversationally, "you'll be wanting a new
body now...."
"Not necessarily. Not right away." He edged away from the blotter
my desk fan was blowing in his direction. "Want to wait—" A burp
nearly flipped him again. "—until these garlic fumes effervesce more
completely from my system."
"It worked out wonderfully well, though," I said, "even though you
did have to put up with the garlic for awhile." I brought out the gin
bottle from the lower drawer. "It was certainly fortunate that Gyf
was on hand to occupy Fidwell just after his wife murdered him." I
unstoppered the bottle and raised it to my lips. "To Fidwell, departed
partner and erstwhile owner of the Remey Company!"
"And the joke was on Mrs. Fidwell," sparkled Gyl's sense of humor.
"Just imagine: seeing her husband up walking around, hale and
hearty, just a half hour after she had throttled the life out of him
with her own two hands!"
"No wonder she had to be locked up," I chuckled, pouring a few
drops of gin on the polished glass near my companion.
"My getting the body of Pasquamine, owner of the floating stock,
wasn't so bad either," he reminded me, isolating a drop of gin and
flowing around it.
I admitted the fact.
"He nearly crushed me, too, when he tumbled," Gyl reminded. "I'd
been following him two weeks, waiting for his fat heart to do a
flopperoo."
We both laughed. I took another drink, and Gyl osmosed a nip.
Finally, I leaned across the desk. "Listen, Gyl," I said, coldly serious.
"Now that this little deal is over, how would you like to get in on
something else? Something really big?"
He instantly became all ears. (Naturally, only a pseudopod can do it.)
"After I sell out Remey," I continued, "we'll have ample funds. So-o,
if we moved over to Washington, D. C.... If you and Gyf could get in
touch with a couple tottering congressmen who are about ready to
depart from this vale of tears...."
Gyl caught on immediately. "T. J.," he complimented, "you've got
something!"
He fell silent, and I knew he was letting the gin and the thought
trickle through him, savoring both from various angles. Then he
vibrated, dreamily, "I've always wanted to be a congressman. Or—or
a cabinet member. Or—" His vibration dropped to little more than a
whisper, "—or a president!"
"Sorry," I said, "but I believe he is already possessed."
Gyl flowed around another drop of gin. "Oh, well," he said dismissing
the ambition, "guess he doesn't have much to say about things,
anyway." Then he brightened. "But there are some mighty fine
bureaus and departments there. We could wiggle our way into one
of those. A few million dollars here and there wouldn't be missed."
"Atta boy! I'll take you and Gyf over to Washington in the morning,
then I'll come back here and dispose of the business while the two
of you are getting established." It sounded like a good idea. Within a
few years we'd be rolling in the filthy stuff.
I poured a few more drops of gin on the glass top, then raised the
bottle. "Here's to happy days in the Pentagon!" I toasted.
Our spirits were soon soaring to great heights, and, as usual under
such circumstances, Gyl began talking about the "good old days"
when you could pick up a likely corpse almost anywhere, anytime.
"Used to be so much simpler then," he commented, flowing around
one of the fresh drops. "Now you have to beat the embalmer!" He
chuckled. "Fairly close race at times, too! But it keeps one on one's
pseudotoes, so to speak!" A combined burp and hiccough nearly
flopped him off the desk.
After he had regained his equilibrium we spent an enjoyable half-
hour talking of cadavers, funeral homes, the comparative merits of
inhabiting youthful or wealthy bodies, and other delightfully
stimulating subjects. Then we began to sing songs, old and new.
We had finished the chorus of "We Have All the Dough of Remey"
for the third time and were just getting warmed up on an
extemporization of "We'll Carry On in the Pentagon" when the office
door flew suddenly open and two Federal boys stepped in, followed
by my stupid-looking secretary.
They came quickly to the desk. One of them grabbed a handful of
Gyl with one hand and pointed a gun at me with the other. "Just stay
as you are," the officer cautioned.
My dumb secretary stared at me with round, innocent eyes. "I
couldn't help hearing everything you said, Mr. Nelson," she chirped,
half apologetically. "Your intercom box was open. Must be a short in
it somewhere. Or a loose connection...."
The other officer picked up the little box and shook it. A surprised
Gyf felt out from between the slats....
They have Gyf and Gyl in a little bottle now, tightly stoppered and
ready for shipment back home to Venus. They'll be placed on the
next space ship heading out.
There is a stupid Terrestrial law, you know, which makes it
mandatory that all Venusians be apprehended on sight or extracted
from any body they may be occupying and sent back to Venus in all
possible haste.
And so I shall soon be extracted from the body of T. J. Nelson and
his neck will bend double in the middle again just the way it was
when I found him shortly after his accident. Then, in a little bottle of
my own, I shall accompany Gyf and Gyl homeward.
But, don't worry, I'll be back! I'll be back just as soon as I can hitch
a ride on a returning spaceboat!
So take good care of yourself, my friend, and don't catch pneumonia
or step in front of a truck or anything like that—until I return.
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