Quiet, Please

This etext was produced from Worlds of If November 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
Groverzb knew what he wanted—peace and quiet. He was willing to scream his head off for it!
The big man eased the piano off his back and stood looking at Groverzb.
You ain't gonna like it here. He mopped his face. Boy, will I ever be glad to get off this cockeyed planet.
Groverzb pushed at his spectacles, sniffed, and said, Quite.
The big man said, Ain't no native here over three feet tall. And they got some crazy kind of communication. They don't talk.
Groverzb said, Quiet.
Uh?
Precisely why I am here. I, said Groverzb, sniffing again, loathe conversation.
Oh. Well. He left.
Alone, Groverzb surveyed his realm. The house was the shell of what had formerly been a Little People apartment building. Ceilings, floors and walls had been removed to form one large room. The tiny doors and windows had been sealed, and a single window and door had been cut into the shell for Groverzb's use. Crude, but serviceable.
Groverzb walked to the window and looked down the slope. Little People buildings dotted the landscape, and the people themselves scurried silently about. Yes, thought Groverzb, it would do nicely. He had brought an adequate food-tablet supply. He would finish, without the distraction of voices, his beautiful concerto. He would return to Earth famous and happy.