Test Bank for Quantitative Methods for Business, 13th Edition Anderson

Chapter 2 - Introduction to Probability

Test Bank for Quantitative Methods for Business,

13th Edition Anderson
Full download chapter at: https://testbankbell.com/product/test-bank-for-quantitative-
methods-for-business-13th-edition-anderson/

True / False

1. Two events that are independent cannot be mutually exclusive.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Basic relationships of probability

2. A joint probability can have a value greater than 1.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Introduction

3. The intersection of A and Ac is the entire sample space.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Basic relationships of probability

4. If 50 of 250 people contacted make a donation to the city symphony, then the relative frequency method assigns a
probability of .2 to the outcome of making a donation.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Relative frequency method

5. An automobile dealership is waiting to take delivery of nine new cars. Today, anywhere from zero to all nine cars
might be delivered. It is appropriate to use the classical method to assign a probability of 1/10 to each of the possible
numbers that could be delivered.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
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Chapter 2 - Introduction to Probability
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Classical method

6. When assigning subjective probabilities, use experience, intuition, and any available data.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Subjective method

7. P(A B) ≥ P(A)
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Addition law

8. If P(A|B) = .4 and P(B) = .6, then P(A B) = .667.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Conditional probability

9. Bayes' theorem provides a way to transform prior probabilities into posterior probabilities.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Bayes' Theorem

10. If P(A B) = P(A) + P(B), then A and B are mutually exclusive.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Addition law

11. If A and B are mutually exclusive events, then P(A | B) = 0.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Mutually exclusive events

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Chapter 2 - Introduction to Probability
12. If A and B are independent events with P(A) = 0.1 and P(B) = 0.5, then P(A B) = .6.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Multiplication law for independent events

13. A graphical device used for enumerating sample points in a multiple-step experiment is a Venn diagram.
a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Tree diagram

14. A posterior probability is a conditional probability.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Bayes' Theorem

15. If A and B are independent events, then P(A B) = P(A)P(B).

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Multiplication law for independent events

16. Two events that are mutually exclusive cannot be independent.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: True
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Basic relationships of probability

17. P(A|B) = P(B|A) for all events A and B.

a. True
b. False
ANSWER: False
POINTS: 1
TOPICS: Conditional probability

18. P(A|B) = 1 − P(B|A) for all events A and B.

a. True
b. False
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 Another random document
un-related content on Scribd:
 N L .
Me be a nigger boy, born in de hovel,
What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine,
Me learn to dig wid de spade and de shovel,
Me learn to hoe up de cane in a line.
Me drink my rum, in de calabash oval,
Me neber sigh for de brandy and wine;
Me be a nigger boy, born in de hovel,
What plantain da shade from de sun wha da shine.
Me be a nigger boy,
When me live happy, wha for me repine?

Me neber run from my massa’s plantation,

Wha for me run? me no want to get lick;
He gib me house, and me pay no taxation—
Food when me famish, and nurse when me sick.
Willy-force[8] nigger, he belly be empty,
He hab the freedom, dat no good for me;
My massa good man, he gib me plenty
Me no lobe Willy-force[8] better dan he.
Me be de nigger boy,
Me happy fellow, den why me want free?
From Fraser’s Magazine, 1830.
 S D W .
I’d be a Minister born into power,
Grasping the pay and the patronage sweet,
Making fine speeches to last for an hour.
At night when the Members of Parliament meet
I’d never care for the Whigs looking sour,
I should have plenty of slaves at my feet.
I’d be a Minister born into power,
Grasping the pay and the patronage sweet.

Then could I pilfer the office of Grey now

I’d get a share of those nice little things,
Giving the patronage, drawing the pay now
And making the most of whatever it brings.
Those that are out, great complaints have to say now
Office around them complacency flings.
I’d be a Minister, like I see Grey now
I’d get a share of those snug little things.
Figaro in London, April 13, 1833.

I’ B .
“Master Butterfly, Mr. Townley’s famous short-horn bull, to which
the first prize was awarded at the Chelmsford meeting, and who has
been bought for the sum of 1,200 guineas, by an Australian gentleman,
was shipped a few days ago for Melbourne by the Copenhagen.”—
Daily Paper.
I’d be a Butterfly, bought for a power
Of gold from Australia, a short-horn complete,
Shelter’d in homestead from sun and from shower,
Fatten’d on oat-cake and mangold so sweet.
Think of the glory obtained by my breeder—
Of the medal at Chelmsford so gloriously won—
Think of the credit borne off by my feeder,
For the fat, layer by layer, my broad ribs laid upon!
 In a fast clipper they’ve taken my passage,
And a cabin on deck they’ve constructed for me,
Padded and mattressed to ease ocean’s tossage,
Pitched and caulked close ’gainst the wash of the sea.
While roots of the choicest, and hay of the sweetest,
Are stored upon board for my use on the way,
A best Lipscombe’s filter ensures the completest
Regard for my water-supply, day by day.

As for the passenger bipeds—poor devils,

Herring-like packed in the dark hold below!
Think of sea-sickness, and all of its evils—
Hatches all down—when it comes on to blow!
My sweet hay, my good water, and cabin so cool,
Compare with their berths, junk, and Thames from the tank!
Surely all must perceive how a fine short-horn bull
And an emigrant labourer differ in rank!
Punch. August 23, 1856.

——:o:——
 WE MET.
We met—’twas in a crowd,
And I thought he would shun me,
He came—I could not breathe,
For his eyes were upon me;
He spoke—his words were cold,
And his smile was unaltered;
I knew how much he felt,
For his deep-toned voice falter’d.

I wore my bridal robe,

And I rivall’d its whiteness;
Bright gems were in my hair,
How I hated their brightness.
He called me by my name—
As the bride of another—
Oh, thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish my mother!

And once again we met,—

And a fair girl was near him,
He smiled, and whispered low,
As I once used to hear him;
She leant upon his arm—
Once ’twas mine, and mine only
I wept—for I deserved
To feel wretched and lonely.

And she will be his bride!

At the altar he’ll give her
The love that was too pure
For a heartless deceiver.
The world may think me gay,
For my feelings I smother,—
Oh, thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish, my mother!
T H B .
 P A .
We met, ’twas in a mob, and we looked at each other;
He came—I said to him, “That you have got another.
You know I saw you come out of yonder dark alley,
Along with that ere gal they call one-eyed Sally.”
And she wore her bridal dress,—’twas a sailor’s blue jacket;
Her face, it smiled at me, how I longed for to smack it,
I said that you was false when you gave me a milling!
Oh! thou hast been the cause of these black eyes, you villain!

I saw him once again, with that ’ere same gal walking;
She grinn’d, and so did he; how I envied their talking.
My heart it burst with rage, when her smart cap I tore off,
And a piece of her black hair in triumph I bore off;
He made a rush at me to give me a feller,
But he missed his savage aim, and fell into a cellar:
I laughed—I said to him, “You remember the milling
You last did give to me, and those black eyes, you villain!”
 “Mr. Henry Colburn here led Lady Morgan to the harp, and requested
her to sing ‘W M .’ The wild Irish girl condescended thus to comply”:—
We met! ’twas in your shop,
And I thought you would shun me;
But you came—your words were sweet,
And your yellow-boys won me.
You bade me write a book,
And they damn’d it in Holborn:—
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish, Hal Colburn!

You cut off half my price

When I went to another;
And I hate you for it well,
Though my feelings I smother.
God send you may be burked,
Some dark night in High Holborn—
And the puffs may bear your corpse
To the doctors, Hal Colburn!
From The National Omnibus. November 25, 1831.
 W M —’T St. G .
We met, ’twas in St. Giles, Ah my poor bosom flutter’d—
He spoke, so full of smiles—though a little he stutter’d.
He said, “Ah, how d’ye do,” but I could not say “Thank’ee!”
I looked so very blue, and he look’d so lankey.
I wore my new pelisse all satin and whiteness,
A new five shilling piece had never such brightness
I should have ta’en his arm, but there was another—
O, thou hast been the cause of this anguish—my mother.

And once again we met that dashing young fellow,

It rain’d heavy wet, he’d a green umbrella;
He said, a worthy Jew, for nine-pence did mend it,
He said, ’twas good as new, and offer’d to lend it.
I thought there was no harm—I was going to take it;
My mother pull’d my arm, ’till I thought she would break it!
Don’t you think that cut direct, all his loving must smother.
Ah! thou hast been the cause of this anguish my mamma.
From The London Singer’s Magazine.
 T D .—No. 1.
We met,—’twas on the ground—
And I thought he would fight me;
He came his looks were bold,
And his pistols did fright me.
He frown’d, and he whispered low
A dead shot he is reckoned;
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this duel, my second!

He trod the paces out,

With a deal of expertness;
His legs were very short,
How I hated their shortness.
He loaded, primed, and cocked,
To his friend then he beckon’d;
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this duel, my second!
From The National Omnibus, June 10, 1831.
 T D . No. 2.
We met, ’twas in a field,
And I thought he would wing me;
He came, I made cock sure
That down he would bring me.
He spoke, his words were cool;
His smile was unalter’d;
I knew he did not fear,
For his hand never falter’d.

I wore my Russia ducks,

And I rivall’d their whiteness;
Two slight friends were there,
How I envied their slightness!
I call’d the fellow out,
And there could be no shrinkings:
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this duel—Miss Jinkins!
(Two verses omitted.)

The Comic Magazine, Second Series, 1833.

 L O .
“‘Oh! is there not something, dear Augustus, truly sublime in this
warring of the elements?’ But Augustus’s heart was too full to speak.”—
MS. Novel by Lady ——
They met, ’twas in a storm,
On the deck of a steamer;
She spoke in language warm,
Like a sentimental dreamer.
He spoke—at least he tried;
His position he altered;
Then turn’d his face aside,
And his deep-ton’d voice faltered.

She gazed upon the wave,

Sublime she declared it;
But no reply he gave—
He could not have dared it.
A breeze came from the south,
Across the billows sweeping;
His heart was in his mouth,
And out he thought ’twas leaping.

“O, then, steward,” he cried,

With the deepest emotion;
Then totter’d to the side,
And leant o’er the ocean.
The world may think him cold,
But they’ll pardon him with quickness,
When the fact they shall be told,
That he suffered from sea-sickness.
Punch. 1845.
 L B D .R .
“I ’ ,I ”—Brougham on Ventilation,
Vide Times. “L B has expressed a very natural repugnance to
be treated like an animal, shut up for the purpose of having ventilating
experiments tried upon him. Such, however, is the fate of all Members of
Parliament who are subjected to the horrors of D . R ’ process. We can
fancy the agonies of the Ex-Chancellor, imprisoned in an exhausted
receiver, like one of those little figures we have seen ascending and
descending in a glass tube, according as the air was let in upon or
withdrawn from them. B ’ rencontre with R would be well
worthy of a poetical celebration, in a strain somewhat similar to the
following:—
We met, ’twas in the House,
And I hoped he would shun me;
He came, I could not breathe,
For his tube was upon me.
He puff’d, the air was cold,
The thermometer alter’d:
I knew ’twas freezing point,
For my voice with shivering falter’d.

I wore my Russia ducks,

In their beautiful whiteness;
Cold gusts ran through the House—
How I hated their lightness!
I call’d for warmer air,
But the pipes never cock’d are—
Oh, thou hast been the cause
Of this humbug, my Doctor!

And once again we met,

And a workman was near him;
He smiled and whisper’d low,
And I waited to hear him.
He gave a gentle breeze;
 I confessed it was pleasing:
But then there came a rush
Of air that was freezing.

Is no one at my side,
Poor B to deliver;
Or must he die shut in
An exhausted receiver?
The world may think him wise,
But the House he will smother;
Or blow it all away
On some day or other.
Punch. June, 1846.
 T L W .
We met—’twas in a mob—and I thought he had done me—
I felt—I could not feel—for no watch was upon me;
He ran—the night was cold—and his pace was unaltered,
I too, longed much to pelt—but my small-boned legs falter’d.
I wore my brand new boots—and unrivalled their brightness,
They fit me to a hair—how I hated their tightness!
I called, but no one came, and my stride had a tether,
Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!

And once again we met—and an old pal was near him,

He swore, a something low, but ’twas no use to fear him.
I seized upon his arm, he was mine and mine only,
And stept, as he deserved —to cells wretched and lonely:
And there he will be tried—but I shall ne’er receive her,
The watch that went too sure for an artful deceiver;
The world may think me gay—heart and feet ache together,
Oh, thou hast been the cause of this anguish, my leather!
T H .
 T I .
We met in upper school,
And I thought he would “draw” me;
He came, his words were stern,
And much did he jaw me.
He asked me for my task,
Which I could not to him show.
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish, my “Impo.”

And once again we met.

And his black book was near him
He pored and mumbled low,
As often you may hear him;
He said that I seem’d
In my duty towards him slow.
Oh! thou hast been the cause
Of this anguish, my “Impo.”

I wore a clean white shirt,

And revelled in its whiteness,
Bright studs were in it too,
How I envied their brightness;
For they made my face look pale,
But I did not let him know
That thou wert the cause
Of this anguish, my “Impo.”
W. V.
From The Charterhouse School Collection of Poems.
 THE SOLDIER’S TEAR.
Upon the hill he turn’d
To take a last fond look,
Of the valley and the village church,
And the cottage by the brook;
He listen’d to the sounds
So familiar to his ear;
And the soldier lean’d upon his sword,
And wip’d away a tear.

Beside the cottage porch

A girl was on her knees,
She held aloft a snowy scarf
Which flutter’d in the breeze:
She breath’d a prayer for him,
A prayer he could not hear,
But he paus’d to bless her as she knelt,
And wip’d away a tear.

He turn’d, and left the spot,

Oh! do not deem him weak,
For dauntless was the soldier’s heart,
Tho’ tears were on his cheek.
Go, watch the foremost ranks
In danger’s dark career,
Be sure the hand most daring there
Has wip’d away a tear.
T H B .
 T R ’ T .
(Supposed to be sung by the Rev. George Croly.)
Beside the church he stood,
To take a last fond look
Of the pulpit and the vestry-room,
And the red morocco book.
He heard the beadle’s voice,
So familiar to his ear,
And he raised his surplice to his eyes,
And wiped away a tear.

Within the old church door,

The clerk was on his knees,
Groping about in the wooden box,
In which he kept his fees.
The parson heard the dub-ups chink
Said he to himself, oh! dear,
If I had those, I do not think
I’d wipe away a tear!

That fine old humbug turned

To leave the chapel door;
He’d pocketted a fortune there,
But now he longed for more.
Go watch the vacant bishoprics,
In the chancellor’s career;
If he pops into one of them
He’ll wipe away no tear!
From The National Omnibus, November 25, 1831.
 T D W ’ T .
“We cannot help calling the attention of our readers to the following
very touching melody, sung by the Duke of Wellington immediately on his
discovering his inability to form an Administration. The allusion to his
threatened retirement from the House, is replete with feeling; and the
reference to the broken windows of Apsley House, pathetic and beautiful.”
Upon his heel he turned,
To take a last fond look,
Of their lordships and the ministers,
And the premier’s pleasant nook.
He listened to the sounds
So familiar to his ear,
And the soldier on his protest leant.
To wipe away a tear.

Upon the sack of wool,

Brougham was on his knees;
He held aloft the snow-white Bill,
That caused so many a breeze.
He breathed a prayer to him—
A prayer he could not hear;
But he paused to damn him as he went,
And wiped away a tear.

He turned to quit the House—

Oh, do not deem him weak;
For bloody were the soldier’s thoughts,
Though tears were on his cheek.
Go watch the broken panes,
Of Apsley, dark and drear,
For there the soldier now must go,
To wipe away his tear.
Figaro in London, May 26, 1832.
 (At that time the Duke of Wellington was very unpopular, and Apsley
House had been attacked by the mob.)
 T B A .
Upon the ground he stood,
To take a last fond look
At the troopers as he entered them
In Mister Dixon’s book.
He listened to the neigh
So familiar to his ear;
But the soldier thought of bills to pay,
And wiped away a tear.

The soldier blew his nose,

Oh, do not deem him weak!
To meet his creditors he knows
He’s not sufficient cheek.
Go read the writ-book through,
And mid the names, I fear
You’re sure to find the very Blue
Who wiped away the tear.
Punch. 1845.

(“Punch had hoped that the regiment had been extricated from its little
pecuniary difficulties, but was horrified on finding that the Commanding
Officer had given instructions to sell twenty very superior long-tailed troop-
horses. The above lines were suggested to the mind of a sentimentalist who
attended the sale.”)