Ah! there he knew was the reason for his gladness.

Joan was beside him.
The taxi he commandeered threaded its way south through a maze of lights, hurrying crowds and noisy, weaving traffic to a tenement in Greenwich Village.

Joan, searching for the unknown sparkle of that Bohemian world she had been unable to envisage, stared at the unromantic basement doors ahead and clung to Kenny's hand.
"It's quite all right, mavourneen," he assured her mischievously.
"Bohemia and poverty rub shoulders down here.

It's picturesque.

And my club is only five blocks east.