America's Prez(?) gets the Horatio Alger treatment as he makes his crooked way from grocer boy to bank assistant to wetback smuggler to miraculous escape from a Faustian conflagration that subsumes his often more talented but also more unlucky confreres in crime, in the midst of a touching but somehow deja vu confession: ""For you see, folks. . . I am guilty of abiding faith in the American system of free enterprise. . . ."" From snotty adolescent on up it's requiescat in pace, for by now, it is hoped, we know the rest of the story -- almost. This is a breezy fantasy written in 19th century vintage Americana, replete with words like ""drat"" and ""Squire"" and ""humble,"" a slight but telling satire of all those poor-boy-up-the-ladder-of-success stories which, sadly for both the world and us, sometimes turned out to be true.