Snores of ten textile strikers, abed in the Gastonia, N. C.,* headquarters of the National Textile Workers Union, ceased abruptly early one morning last week when the snorers were nudged awake by revolvers in the hands of a band of masked men. Out into the street the sleepy strikers were marched to the tune of random shots. With crowbar and sledge hammer the invaders—several scores of them, it was too dark to count accurately—set about wrecking the flimsy frame building. Window glass crashed out upon the street and through the aperture went...
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