Solution manual for Java Software Solutions for AP Computer Science A, 2/E 2nd Edition John

Solution manual for Java Software Solutions for AP Computer

Science A, 2/E 2nd Edition John Lewis, William Loftus, Cara
Cocking
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Description
This text provides an introduction to both the Java programming language and
the techniques for writing high-quality programs. It takes an object-oriented
approach that progresses naturally - first using objects, then writing classes.

Product details

 Publisher : Addison-Wesley; 2nd edition (January 1, 2006)

 Language : English

 Hardcover : 687 pages

 ISBN-10 : 0132222515

 ISBN-13 : 978-0132222518

 Grade level : 10 - 12

 Item Weight : 3.3 pounds

 Dimensions : 8.25 x 1.25 x 10 inches

 Best Sellers Rank: #1,896,952 in Books

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 “APRICOT AGAIN!”
Drawn by DAVID BARKER

I do not pen unfeelingly

These random lines of thanks,
For I, in old Gallipoli,
Am fighting in the ranks.

However long the day may be

Or cold the watch of night,
My lady finds unerringly
The road to the respite.
Her gift is small and seemingly
Of little value, yet
It teaches me so charmingly
To think and to forget.

So I and those along with me

In all this dreary scene
Unite in giving thanks to thee,
My Lady Nicotine.

H. G. G .
 THE RAID ON LONDON
A Modern Chronicle by Private PAT RIOT

E ngland has been conquered by Julius Cæsar, William of Normandy,

nearly (but not quite) by William of Germany, and, lastly, by plain Bill
of Australia. And of the three it is clear that the conquest of Australian Bill
was the most successful of all, when it is remembered that at the time of his
triumphant entry into London he was not the man he is; he was sick and
wounded. He did not invade the city with his shield in front of him. He was
carried on it; he came a conqueror on crutches.
Private Bill Kangaroo was a lanky, sawny bushman who, when a certain
foreign militarism went mad and the band began to play the concert of
Europe, read between the lines of his newspaper, thought a bit, saddled his
brumby, and rode for the nearest town that ran a railway, staying there just
long enough for a final shout. He passed the doctor easily, took a quite
insanguinary oath (for once) to do his job as a soldier, and went into camp.
How Private Bill made his kangaroo-like leap up the ridges of Gallipoli
has been told by a war correspondent to a public which had, up till then,
been vaguely aware of his existence as a poor relation from a South Sea
Island. It is fairly certain that future historians will teach that Australia was
discovered not by Captain Cook, explorer, but by Mr. Ashmead Bartlett,
war correspondent. Anyhow, the finding and exploration of the territory is
not in the same continent as the discovery and exploration of its people, and
Bill has seen the correspondent in the trenches, and regards him with much
more curiosity than ever he regarded the quondam explorer. But he was
unconcerned with these things, and was acting co-respondent in the case of
Crescent v. Southern Cross when a sniper’s bullet hit him in the neck and
put him out of court. A hospital ship brought him to the City of London.
London first came to know him through the medium of its most useful
person, the policeman. Bill had no love for a policeman as a reader of Riot
Acts, but he developed quite an affection for him as a Pointer of the Way.
“I’m bushed” became a familiar greeting between them, and the Kangaroo
was never disappointed when he strolled across the street to ask P.C. 49 the
way he should go. A London motor-bus might have done what a Turkish
bullet failed to do if the man in blue had not stopped the traffic and played
the part of pilot to him. The raised hand that held up the stream only for
royal persons was lifted for the strolling soldier from the South, and the
busmen laughed at the bushman. To be “bushed” in the heart of London
became a common experience with him, and one had a suspicion that
nefarious taxicab drivers often took advantage of his innocence of locality
to drive him in circles before dropping him at his destination, perhaps five
minutes from the starting place. It was the shortness of city distances that
puzzled him, and he was amazed to find names that were historical and
household words 12,000 miles away borne by quite unpretentious streets
and lanes. When English people learned that he had travelled 1,000 miles to
pass a doctor and join the Army, they gasped and said he must be joking.
What a class war failed to do, a race war has done. The poor and their
patrons, noblemen gentle and simple, vied with each other in dealing
hospitably by the private soldier who had climbed the heights that
commanded a view of the Past and the Future. In the stately homes of
England, Bill (in the servant’s phrase) met the “big guns” as “one of
themselves,” and was astonished at the surprise thus caused. But he was
amazed, in turn, when the servants told him they had been in the house ten
years. With many embellishments, he assured them that a girl in service in
Sydney would think she owned the house if she stopped so long in one
place.
To Bill, going into the Carlton or the Hotel Cecil wasn’t sitting in the
seats of the mighty, but just the same as entering the pub at Yungaburrah,
and he wandered in these places without any desire to “cut a dash.” He
approved of the costly surroundings, but when he saw the smallness of the
glasses put before him, Bill sat in the seats of the scornful. He really
enjoyed himself better in that inn where he found a group of Cockney
cronies. The landlord had to respond repeatedly to his “Fill ’em up again,”
and Bill afterwards declared it to be the cheapest night’s fun in the town.
Parsimonious people would say that Bill Kangaroo didn’t know the value
of money, for it took him some time to appreciate the small coins of the
realm at their face value. He thought it looked mean to keep on asking,
“How much?” and when seeing the sights of the city he always pulled out
silver more than sufficient to cover expenses. The pennies he received in
change soon filled his pocket, and at first he gave them away; but as he saw
that he would soon be penniless, he would go into one of those places
described as being “strictly within the meaning of the Act,” and
surreptitiously ask the barman if he could do with change. His dislike of the
base metal and a habit of tipping in silver bade fair to earn for him the
nickname of the “Silver King.” Tipping he reckoned a curse, but, knowing
that many men lived by tips alone, he passed the coin quite as cordially as
he disliked the practice. Bill never bought in the cheapest market to sell in
the dearest; he didn’t think it “on the square.”
His greatest adventure was the Zeppelins. Seated in a theatre one
evening, he heard a woof! And just after that a second one, closer a third, a
fourth, and then a fifth just outside. Woof! Crash! Men and women began to
rush for the doors, until the man who rose to the occasion on that
memorable 25th rose to this one, and shouted above the tumult of falling
glass and tramping feet that it was safer in than out, and that if they kept
their seats all would be well. The actresses on the stage, though quaking
with fright, stuck pluckily to their parts until the final act. Bill himself
wanted dearly to go out and see the infernal machines and their effect, but,
for example’s sake, he stayed till order was restored, when he slipped out of
the building.
What he saw outside filled him with thankfulness that he was a soldier,
helping to smash the raiders and their kind. Wandering down the street, past
great gaping holes in the roadway, an overturned motor-bus and some
wrecked buildings, he found himself on the Embankment, and then on the
bridge, where he saw a damaged arch of masonry. He sat down to think,
little dreaming that he was fulfilling Macaulay’s prophecy concerning the
man from “down under” sitting on the ruins of London Bridge.
Bill’s furlough was finished shortly after this; his raid terminated with
that of the Zeppelins. He was glad to return to the front; and he knows now
that, in assisting in the pruning of Prussia, he is fighting for more things
than ever he thought of when he took the oath of allegiance.
But he swears that when the job is done he will again visit the land of his
father’s fathers, and toast it in a big, big toast.
9th Battalion.
 SING!

T rooper Sing, of the 2nd Light Horse Brigade, on the right, was said to
have sniped his two hundredth Turk.
But his name and fame had not spread all around the lines, for a Staff
Officer, in visiting the snipers of Quinn’s Post, came upon a Light
Horseman who, very justifiably, was priding himself upon having definitely
hit twelve of the enemy.
“Did you hear that fellow Sing on the right of the line——” began the
Staff Officer.
“Well, sir, they don’t sing in front of me,” put in the Quinn’s Post man
promptly. “They’re too b—— well frightened!”
 ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT AN ANZAC
ALPHABET

A was the Anguish that spread o’er my face

When I saw the remarkable look of the place.

B’s “Beachy Bill,” who fired at my ship—

Punctured the funnel and gave me the “pip.”

C was the “Crump” that went by with a screech

As I jumped from a lighter and fell on the beach.

D was the Daring I failed to display

When fragments of shrapnel came whizzing my way.

Ewas Earth which I found in my hair

As I woke in the morning and crawled from my lair.

Fwere the Fleas, and also the Flies,

Who feed on a fellow wherever he lies.

G were the Gripes that gripped me within—

The result of commodities packed in a tin.

H was the Hole that a howitzer made;

It would take me an hour to fill in with a spade.

I
was the Idiot who stuck up my head
Before I was taught to take cover instead.

J
was the Jam with our rations and rum—
We found it was almost invariably “Plum.”

K was the Knowledge I quickly acquired

Of hiding whenever the enemy fired.

Lwas the Louse that lurked in my vest,

Reconnoitred my person, and tickled my chest.

M was the Monitor, firing at night,

Which kept me awake when “above” didn’t bite.
N
was the “Night stunt,” with trembling heart,
Expecting each moment the Maxims would start.

O’s the O.O.[24]; let’s give him a cheer—

It isn’t his fault that nothing comes here.

P
are the Piers—see them shiver and shake
Whenever a launch makes a wash with her wake.

Qstands for “Quick,” to the tunnel we dash

When a horrible missile explodes with a crash.

Rare the Rumours we hear every day

That the Turkish moral has quite faded away.

S
is the gilded Staff Officer—who
Censors my letters and tears them in two.

T
is the Taube that drones in the sky
(Thank goodness, I haven’t been ordered to fly!)

Uis the Underground sap we expand—

There’s a twopenny tube to the Narrows in hand.

Vis for Victory. How we shall sing

Rule, O Britannia, and God Save the King!

W the Wire we put round our works—

We generally find that it’s pinched by the Turks.

Xthe “X-periments” made with a bomb—

A neat little cross on a nice little tomb.

Yin the world have I ever been placed

In a trench of cold water right up to my waist?

Z
is the mule corps recruited from Zion,
Bearers of water and rations of iron.
“U ,” 21st Indian Mtn. Battery.

FOOTNOTES:
[24] Ordnance Officer.
 TO SARI BAIR

Did Ari Burnu, Sari Bair,

With lips of hot desire,
And clutch your skirts in wild despair
At your disdainful ire?

Oh, Sari Bair, with frowning brow

And flinty breasts of stone—
Fierce Anzac breathes a fiery vow,
Thou art for him alone.

To drive your Abdul from his lairs,

He comes in proud array;
And loud he swears, and when he swears
The Turkish hosts give way.

Dear goddess, wise in ancient lore,

Let Abdul curse the Hun;
The waning Crescent fades before
Australia’s Rising Sun.

But cheer up, poor old Sari Bair,

And smile ’midst battle smoke,
For Anzac, wild of eye and hair,
Is quite a decent bloke.

“B T ,”
10th Aust. Battalion.
 ON WATER FATIGUE

I’d like to get the Hun who sends

The little bits of shell
Which buzz around as wearily
I top that blooming hill.
He only does his duty,
But my only shirt I’d sell
For half a chance to give the cuss
A non-return to H——!

Trooper G H. S ,
7th Light Horse.
 Sergeant (during wet weather): “Hallo, my lad, have you got nails in your
boots?”
Slowly Freezing Australasian: “Well, I’m that —— cold I hardly know if
I’ve got nails in my feet.”

On Water Fatigue: “Me next!”

 A Cheery Optimist

N I
The T extremity
blocked on our left.—
 WHEN IT’S ALL OVER....

We were finished with the fightin’, we were finished with the war,
And the dove of peace looked healthier than e’er she did before;
For the Allies put the acid on the Hohenzollern crowd,
And they piled the costs on William when they knew they had him cowed.
But we didn’t care a cussword if his soul were saved or sold;
We were bound for home and beauty, and the wanderlust was cold.

Yes, we dream of home and Mother, and of Dad and Sister May,
And the girls who used to know us, waitin’ half a world away;
And we’re wantin’ but to find them just the same and nothin’ more—
Just the same old dear old home-folks that we knew before the war.
And I’m hoping they’ll be looking for the boy that used to be,
Not a hero with a halo for the crowd to come and see.

Oh! I’ve snarled to read the phrases that the writers coined for us—
“Deathless heroes—lasting glory,” and the other foolish fuss;
For we’re simple sinful soldiers, and we’re often rude and rough,
And our characters ain’t altered since we donned the khaki stuff.
(“Smithy” terms this “the outpourin’s of an overburdened soul,”
But I’d like to stuff a blanket in that long-offendin’ hole.)

As I gaze on Bill, me cobber,[25] sure I smile a little smile,

For his happy, careless nature doesn’t fit the poet’s style;
No, he don’t resemble Cæsar in his looks or in his speech,
Nor Napoleon nor Cromwell—why, they ain’t within his reach.
He’s a decent sort of cobber, but he doesn’t push a claim
To be classed “a gallant guardian of Britain’s honoured name.”

I’ve a grouch on jingo writers and the poets and them all,
Who have placed us common persons on a public pedestal;
Will they dust our coats and speak to us and help us when we fall,
Or paste a different label on us—something very small?
It’s their fault I’m entertaining just a tiny little dread
That me friends may want a hero with a halo round his head.

H M C ,
4th A.L.H.

FOOTNOTES:
[25] Cobber—Australian for a well tried and tested pal.
 SPECIAL A. & N. Z. A. C. ORDERS
The following are some of the “special orders” issued on notable occasions
to the officers and men of the A. & N. Z. Army Corps.

I. THE LANDING

AUSTRALIAN AND NEW ZEALAND ARMY CORPS

April, 1915.
O M ,—In conjunction with the Navy, we are about to
undertake one of the most difficult tasks any soldier can be called on to
perform, and a problem which has puzzled many soldiers for years past.
That we will succeed I have no doubt, simply because I know your full
determination to do so. Lord Kitchener has told us that he lays special stress
on the rôle the Army has to play in this particular operation, the success of
which will be a very severe blow to the enemy—indeed, as severe as any he
could receive in France. It will go down to history to the glory of the
soldiers of Australia and New Zealand. Before we start, there are one or two
points which I must impress on all, and I most earnestly beg every single
man to listen attentively and take these to heart.
We are going to have a real hard and rough time of it until, at all events,
we have turned the enemy out of our first objective. Hard, rough times none
of us mind, but to get through them successfully we must always keep
before us the following facts. Every possible endeavour will be made to
bring up transport as often as possible; but the country whither we are
bound is very difficult, and we may not be able to get our wagons anywhere
near us for days, so men must not think their wants have been neglected if
they do not get all they want. On landing it will be necessary for every
individual to carry with him all his requirements in food and clothing for
three days, as we may not see our transport till then. Remember then that it
is essential for everyone to take the very greatest care not only of his food,
but of his ammunition, the replenishment of which will be very difficult.
Men are liable to throw away their food the first day out and to finish their
water bottles as soon as they start marching. If you do this now, we can
hardly hope for success, as unfed men cannot fight, and you must make an
effort to try and refrain from starting on your water bottles until quite late in
the day. Once you begin drinking you cannot stop, and a water bottle is very
soon emptied.
Also as regards ammunition—you must not waste it by firing away
indiscriminately at no target. The time will come when we shall find the
enemy in well entrenched positions from which we shall have to turn them
out, when all our ammunition will be required; and remember,
Concealment whenever possible,
Covering fire always,
Control of fire and control of your men,
Communications never to be neglected.
W. R. B .

II. THE BATTLES OF AUGUST

SPECIAL ORDER
B G S I H , G.C.B., D.S.O., A.D.C.
Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.
G H ,
Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.
September 7, 1915.
The Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, desires
formally to record the fine feat of arms achieved by the troops under the
command of Lieutenant-General Sir W. R. Birdwood during the battle of
Sari Bair.
The fervent desire of all ranks to close with the enemy, the impetuosity of
their onset and the steadfast valour with which they maintained the long
struggle, these will surely make appeal to their fellow-countrymen all over
the world.
 The gallant capture of the almost impregnable Lone Pine trenches by the
Australian Division, and the equally gallant defence of the position against
repeated counter-attacks are exploits which will live in history. The
determined assaults carried out from other parts of the Australian Division’s
line were also of inestimable service to the whole force, preventing as they
did the movement of large bodies of reinforcements to the northern flank.
The troops under the command of Major-General Sir A. J. Godley, and
particularly the New Zealand and Australian Division, were called upon to
carry out one of the most difficult military operations that has ever been
attempted—a night march and assault by several columns in intricate
mountainous country, strongly entrenched, and held by a numerous and
determined enemy. Their brilliant conduct during this operation and the
success they achieved have won for them a reputation as soldiers of whom
any country must be proud.
To the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, therefore, and to those
who were associated with that famous Corps in the battle of Sari Bair—the
Maoris, Sikhs, Gurkhas, and the new troops of the 10th and 13th Divisions
from the Old Country—Sir Ian Hamilton tenders his appreciation of their
efforts, his admiration of their gallantry, and his thanks for their
achievements. It is an honour to command a force which numbers such men
as these in its ranks, and it is the Commander-in-Chief’s high privilege to
acknowledge that honour.
W. P. B ,
Major-General,
Chief of the General Staff.

III. ARRIVAL OF 2nd AUSTRALIAN DIVISION, AND

SINKING OF THE SOUTHLAND

SPECIAL ARMY CORPS ORDER

A C H ,
September 7, 1915.