Corrections in red.  Stylistic suggestions in blue.

Another translation

It's a sunny day in Moscow now, and everybody is thinking of upcoming holidays because of May Day and Victory Day. But not me! I have lots of homework to do for our last class before the celebrations. Here is another, a bit senseless story, I have to translate it. How does it strike you? I mean the language, of course :) 

Mr. Smith regarded himself as a famous poet, but as things stood, it was clear that the public welcomed his latest book quite coolly. Mr. Smith gave way to despair when a brilliant idea occurred to his wife. "I know how to draw crowds of people. Why don't you put an advertisement in a newspaper in which you, the author of the book 'The Crimson Bushes”, highly recommend as a footman your man, who has been working for you for twenty years." "What you suggest doesn’t make any sense. I can’t make out what you are driving at. We have never had a footman," objected Mr. Smith. "On the face of it, the idea seems to be an absurd one, I agree, but let’s have a go. There’s not much of a risk. People will know your name and start buying your book. Your fame will spread far and wide." 

In a sense, Mister Smith liked his wife’s idea. He understood that she was talking sense. But the thing was that he wasn’t the kind of man who easily gives in. He rejected her suggestion and soon forgot about the conversation. But Edit stuck to her idea. She was used to having everything her own way.

One day when Mr. Smith’s wife was away, and the latter was sitting and writing his new poem, there was a ring at the door. "Can it be Edit? She can’t have returned so soon." When he opened the door, he saw a tall man with a big dog. He gave a startled cry. "Give me two pounds and take the dog," the man said. "But I don’t need a dog," objected Mr. Smith. "What do you mean?" shot back ["echoed" would mean the man repeated Mr. Smith's words.] the man in an unpleasant voice. A cold shiver ran down Mr. Smith’s spine. He didn’t feel like buying the dog, but there was nothing he could do but agree. He hadn’t returned to his room when there was another ring at the door. In the doorway there were two men with big dogs. He decided not to argue with them. Before they had managed to say something he shut the door in their faces.

Mr. Smith felt run-down. He wanted to drink a glass of whisky. Looking out the window, he suddenly saw two men coming up to his house. His patience ran out. "I must draw the line somewhere! I won’t have them making fun of me." 

I've run out of allowed number of characters, and so the end of the story reamins a mystery. :D

Excellent translation.